


Lost Boy

by negickapologist (neganstonguething)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AND I'M NOT KILLING LEE, Amnesiac Negan, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Eventual Sex, Heavy Themes, I refuse, I'M NOT KILLING CLEMENTINE, M/M, Minor Character Death, NZ au, Past Child Abuse, Probably ooc, Slow Burn, Some Supernatural Elements, THEY ARE TOO PRECIOUS, VERY subdued negan, chain smoking negan, some graphic memories, vent fic, when sex happens it will be graphic, writing for catharsis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neganstonguething/pseuds/negickapologist
Summary: Negan is a forty-nine-year-old amnesiac, and Rick sets out to help him regain his memories. Turns out it's far more than either of them bargained for.Long ass notes at the end of the first chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea has been stewing in my mind ever since I first finished Blue Jello. In the beginning, I just wanted to write something really dark and emotionally-trying, but it has since evolved into so much more than that. I'll cover the details in the endnotes, since it's going to get pretty long and there's a bit of a rant involved.
> 
> I will say ahead of time that this fic has a lot of elements from my own personal life and serves as a sort of cathartic work used to vent about said elements. If that's not your cuppa, you've been warned.

_On this particular night, it’s as clear as the Caribbean sea outside, with not so much as a tiny cloud or gust of wind. But inside the walls of a suburban home in the sprawling town of Williamsburg, Virginia, a storm of its own is raging. Like hail, violent words hammer from wife to husband and from husband to wife. The thunder is their screaming voices, and the lightning comes in the form of the sporadic pauses one partner makes while trying to decide what harsh insult to volley at the other next._

_In that very same house, tucked away in the upstairs bedroom closet, sits a boy who has always been afraid of storms. He hugs his arms tight around his knees and turns his head, wiping his eyes on his forearms. He sniffles away his frustration and scowls through dark bangs off into the direction of the other side of the closet._

_Negan sits at said other side, staring back at the boy. For a few moments, he feels like an intruder. Like the dark-haired boy’s glare is directed at him. Hell, why wouldn’t it be? Negan doesn’t know why he’s here, but that probably doesn’t mean shit to this kid. He’s already got enough on his plate hearing his parents fight. Having some stranger pop up in his room unexplained probably doesn’t help matters any._

_“It’s always like this,” The boy grumbles bitterly. Negan can hear every ounce of pain in the young kid’s voice, and it inexplicably makes his chest clench up like he’s got a car lying atop him._

_“How old are you?” Negan asks, his voice intended to be a gentle rain shower, relief during the storm raging downstairs. “I mean, nobody of any age deserves this, but fuck, you can’t be older than like five or six…”_

_The boy doesn’t answer, and that’s when Negan realizes he’s not visible to this kid. That he’s simply sitting in on this event for whatever goddamned reason._

_“Hiding used to make it better.” The boy continues to himself. “But now that I know it doesn’t make them stop, I feel worse.”_

_The boy disappears in a whisp of smoke, and the scenery around him fades. Negan realizes this is a dream when the boy’s bedroom rematerializes around him. He’s got a wooden twin bed that Negan somehow knows is homemade, finished in dark brown, with brightly colored Looney Toons sheets. His walls are painted a dull gray, with little on them aside from a family portrait or two._

_The same boy is now crying on his bed, with who Negan can only assume by the matching dark eyes between the two of them is his mother sitting next to him. He spectates, still invisible, as the two carry on an important conversation._

_“This is all my fault.” The boy whimpers, unable to look his mother in the eyes. His gaze is fixed down at the ground in front of his bed. “You guys were just fighting so much, and I couldn’t take it. So I made a wish.” He breaks into fresh sobs. “I wished that something could happen—anything to make it stop. I didn’t know, Ma, I didn’t expect it to mean Pa had to go away!”_

_His mother puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No, baby. This wasn’t because of you. Your daddy left because…because he had some stuff he needed to take care of. He’s got a lot of growin’ up to do, see?”_

_The boy dares to look up at her as he wipes snot away onto his arm. “Is he gonna come back? Am I ever gonna see him again?”_

_The woman frowns deeply. “…I don’t know, son. But I do know that he didn’t do this to make you cry. How about we chin up and do what we can to keep goin’?”_

_Her son spends ample time debating her words before he finally nods. “…Okay.”_

_His mother smiles. “’Atta boy, baby. Now, c’mere—you got your shirt all covered in snot.”_

And then Negan’s awake. His eyes are wide, staring up at a black ceiling that he doesn’t initially recognize. He hears a machine beeping next to him, quick in pace at first, but it slows after a while.

His pulse.

He releases a pent-up sigh when he remembers where he is.

Negan is forty-nine years old, and he can’t remember anything before forty-eight. That means that in regard to his memory, he’s only got a year of existence to go by. He knows there’s plenty before it all, but he can’t remember a damn thing about it.

In fact, the last thing he can remember is getting a phone call, in his contacts as ‘Work’, and being told that this was his third no-call no-show, and that he was fired and needed to focus on getting himself some help.

His apartment had been littered with clues to his past. A trophy from six years prior awarded to a team called the Saviors, several uniform shirts, a pair of wedding rings. The photos had all been turned down, but when Negan flipped them up, he didn’t see anything. He had apparently seen fit to remove the images just in case he decided to take a peek.

Negan lost his apartment in the struggle to find a job that would take him. It was a challenge trying to sell himself to an employer when he had no recollection of any of his talents and achievements. After nearly a month of failed attempts, he eventually found himself reaching out to a city job program for help.

And that was how he got his CNA certification. It was a short class, and while not exactly his career of choice, an easy one to find work in while he figured his shit out and got back into his comfort zone.

He got lucky with the hospital, honestly. His work experience in the nursing field was a big nothing, but his age and physical fitness won the favor of the director of nursing, and he found himself working overnights on the med/surg floor. The pay was better than expected, and Negan knew he’d be able to pay rent at a small apartment with the new income, so he took it. Twelve-hour days, three days a week, plus overtime? Who says no to that?

It’s hard work, though. It took Negan weeks to get past the training phase and to be set free by himself. Hospital work was unpredictable, and you never knew if you were going to be bathing someone, admitting them to the floor, or resuscitating them. It was nonstop, but eventually, Negan could work alongside the best.

One of said best, and also Negan’s trainer, was a man named Rick Grimes. A pretty, blue-eyed aspiring nurse with soft, dark brown curls and a perfectly-shaped set of cheekbones that made Negan wonder just what his own sexuality was. He learned through interaction that he was a natural flirt, and also vulgar. Apparently, that shit was just ingrained into his personality. Rick, bless his fucking soul, took it all in stride. He even expressed pride in Negan when he announced that he had completed his training. They went from trainer and trainee to coworkers, and then fast friends.

That was nearly a year ago. Just a week before today, Negan was introduced to a hospital-sponsored sleep study by Rick. The man has known about Negan’s memory (or lack thereof) for months now, and when he learned about a study entirely based around repressed memory, he had been quick to refer Negan to it.

 _“You don’t know what made you forget, but if there’s anything that can help you figure it out, I think it’ll be this.”_ He’d said, all comforting words and warm smiles.

The study is comprised of six months of weekly visits. Twenty-four nights in the hospital’s sleep ward, heavy monitoring of sleep patterns under the influence of an experimental drug, and documentation of exactly what happens during each sleep cycle.

Negan goes into it a little skeptical, but he knows that Rick has got a point. Unless he wants to start anew and keep building from who he awoke as, he’s going to have to give it a shot.

As the conscious world surrounds him again, Negan sighs. That means the boy he’d dreamed about was himself. Or well, presuming the drug he’d so trustingly been given had worked, it was him. The hair and eye color and some basic facial features had matched, at least. But Negan still finds it a little hard to believe that it’d be this easy.

He does as the study suggests, though, and gets to work documenting. The room he’s sleeping in is like a cross between a hospital room and a hotel room. The bed is queen-sized, with soft blankets and inviting pillows, as well as a bathroom and living area, complete with a desk. The monitors Negan is hooked up to are the only signs he’s in a hospital, save for the oxygen outlet on the wall and emergency CPR switch on the bed.

Negan tugs the cords from his head and arms and chest, ripping the stickers away, as he takes a seat on the chair in front of the desk. On the surface is a notebook, and when Negan opens it, he sees that the first page is marked ‘Night one’.

“…Not very fucking subtle, are you guys?” He voices, amused. Nonetheless, he gets straight to work, writing and not stopping until he’s finished. Afterward, he’s up and snags himself a shower.

When he emerges through a cloud of steam, a nurse is waiting, glancing up at monitors and scribbling down numbers. When she senses his presence, she turns and offers him a warm smile.

“Good morning, Negan,” She says, tucking her clipboard under her arm. “I’m Denise. How was your first night?

Negan doesn’t recognize Denise, so he assumes she’s only ever worked on this floor. Either way, he smiles back at her. “Top of the mornin’ to you, Denise. Slept like a fucking bump on a log.”

“Good,” Denise says cheerily, almost nervously. Afterward, she nods toward the open notebook Negan had been scribbling in before his shower. “I see you had some results.”

“I dreamed, yeah,” Negan replies, before his expression contorts into a frown. “But a lot of people fucking dream, Denise. Doesn’t say much other than the fact that I’m doing something a whole shit-ton of other people are already doing.”

He’s kind of impressed with how Denise lets his comments roll right off her back. Then again, he’s met some pretty interesting patients in his almost-one-year of employment in the medical field, so she’s probably learned to take just about everyone with a grain of salt. Either way, she’s just as calm as ever as she responds to him.

“That’s a valid statement,” She answers, before reaching up to turn the monitors off. “But that’s why we’ll be studying you off and on for six months. You shouldn’t expect every visit to produce a dream of importance, but you should still write down whatever happens—whether you dreamed or not, what was in the dream, if you smelled or heard or felt anything. At the end of the study, you can look back on that notebook and tell us what you think. With any luck, you’ll have some of your memories back.”

Negan’s still skeptical, but he can’t help but smile back at her. “Not gonna lie, darlin’—that’d be more than I can ask for from this. Especially since they’re paying me for it.”

Denise laughs. “Gotta love clinical trials. Now, your next appointment is the same time, one week from today. I’ll see you then, alright?”

“You got it, babydoll.”

He sees Denise roll her eyes before he gathers his things and disappears out of the room.

Night shift is a fucking challenge, because if you want any semblance of a normal social life, you’ve got to reset your schedule on your days off. It makes you tired and irritable and actually not itching to be all that social. Negan supposes that’s the good thing about befriending Rick. He works night shift too, so he’s often up around the same times as Negan.

It’s odd to sleep at night, though. Whatever drug he was given last night must’ve helped him fall asleep too, because Negan’s literal shit at reorienting his schedule. And he slept really fucking good while he was in that bed. The pillows and blankets are probably made to be as comfortable as possible, though. After all, if you’re doing a sleep study, you need to be sleeping.

The suckiest part is that he has to work tonight. He feels wide awake after his restful night’s sleep, though, so he has no idea how in the hell he’s going to wind down to get some sleep before he has to head to work at seven tonight.

And for good reason. He tries everything to wear himself out, from jogging down the street his apartment complex is on, to cleaning his apartment from top to bottom, and even rubs one out while he has the fucking chance, but when three in the afternoon rolls around and he’s still wide as fuck awake, he knows he’s going to be screwed.

He ends up opening his phone up and sending a text message to Rick.

_[N: so you should probably be a fucking dear and pick up coffee for two tonight because im gonna be a wreck at work. Ill make it up to you big time]_

It’s not like Negan’s never asked Rick to bring them both coffees, but he’s also a damn good cook while Rick has trouble boiling water for macaroni, so he usually makes up for it by bringing in home-cooked meals for the both of them, and he almost always ends up concocting enough for the entire nursing staff on their floor to enjoy.

Today, it’s slow-cooker baked chicken macaroni and cheese with diced red peppers and French-fried onions on top. Negan throws the ingredients in and heads for bed.

Which is an absolute shit fucking waste of goddamned time. Winding down is the hardest thing for him to do. He tosses and turns in his bed, before he pulls out his phone and plays every game he’s got installed on it until he’s out of lives or energy or whatever the term of choice for each game might be. And he’s still not tired. The clock hits five-thirty and Negan knows he’s not going back to sleep.

So he gets up, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and throws on a set of gray scrubs with red stitches on the hems. Afterward, he finishes up the meal that is his peace offering to Rick, and moves to check his phone. Rick has finally responded.

_[R: You’d better, Negan. Your coffee costs too damn much.]_

Negan laughs out loud, a giddy and almost embarrassing reaction. He finds himself clearing his throat and looking about the kitchen of his apartment as if someone might have seen his very private outburst of amusement. Not unexpectedly, it’s just himself in the room. He packs up the still-hot meal, slapping a lid on the big container and putting it into a shopping bag, and then finally responds to Rick.

_[N: well excuse the hell out of me moneybags. you dont have to order it my way if it costs too much]_

Six-thirty and he’s hopping into his car. Before starting up the engine, he checks his messages once more.

_[R: Bullshit. If I don’t get it the way you like it, I get to listen to you whine all day. Even if it’s not directed at me, it’s annoying. Just think about how you’re going to pay me back, Negan.]_

Another laugh, except this time, Negan doesn’t bother looking around.

_[N: not to worry there beautiful. I got this covered already ;) ]_

After that, he pops his auxiliary cable into his phone, throws on some music, and heads to work. The commute to the hospital isn’t so bad. He’s always heading out just after rush hour has ended, and the hospital isn’t too far from his apartment.  He almost always leaves early enough to arrive fifteen minutes before the start of his shift, because he and Rick plan things out for their floor beforehand.

The thing is, he and Rick are a damn fucking good team. They handle rounds together even though they’ve got different patients, and then they stock rooms and closets quickly. Afterward, they almost always have plenty of time to sit down and bullshit until they either admit a new patient or something else goes on.

And Negan would prefer to keep it that way.

He rolls in at sixteen minutes until seven, big container of hot macaroni in hand, and enters the break room with thirteen of those minutes to spare. Despite their nearly-argumentative text message conversation, Rick greets Negan with a smile.

“Oh my _god_ , Negan,” Rick moans. “That smells so good. Please tell me you made enough for seconds.”

Negan holds the container high up for Rick, the one other aide for their floor, and the nurses to see. “Are you shitting me? This is _plenty_ , Rick.”

“Good.” Rick, practically salivating at the sight, instantly pops the container open and scoops some of the meal out onto a plate.

Report (and dinner) goes by quickly enough, and soon, the employees are out on the floor, starting their day. Once Negan is done with his initial set of vitals, he sits down at the nurse’s station and starts to plan the rest of his shift. He’s already exhausted, but as promised, Rick has brought him coffee (a tall caramel mocha with two shots of espresso and chocolate drizzle on top), which he now sips gratefully.

“You really do look like shit,” Rick says, taking a seat next to him. Negan rolls his eyes, but he’s actually not too bothered by the comment. “You had that sleep thing last night, didn’t you? I forgot. How’d it go?”

“You recommend that shit to me and then forget?” Negan scoffs. “Asshat. Any-fucking-way,”

“C’mon, man,” The charge nurse, a man named Tyreese who looks fierce as can be, but is actually a giant fucking teddy bear, pipes up. “Watch the language. We got patients here.”

“My bad.” Negan likes Tyreese. He’s a big fan of his cooking, just like Rick. “Anyway, it went well. I dreamed something, but I don’t know if it’s really a memory or anything.”

“What was it?” Rick asks around a sip of his own coffee. The steam dances around his face, and Negan’s tempted to blow it away.

Instead, though, he reaches into the bag he carries all his work stuff in and pulls out the same notebook he’d written in earlier today. He trusts Rick with the documentation. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything too crazy written in there.

Rick studies the words, and then bursts out laughing. “ _’Kid couldn’t fucking see me, but I could see him.’_ You cuss like a sailor even when fillin’ out paperwork. Makes me wonder how your employment application went.”

Negan snatches the book back. “I was told to write it just as my mind comes up with it, asshole. As it turns out, my mind came up with a few _bad words_ , too.”

“I’m not surprised.” Rick’s got a big shit-eating grin on his face and Negan kind of wants to punch it off. “But hey, at least you got something written down, now. How’s this whole thing work, anyway?”

Negan shrugs. In the side of his periphery, he sees the other aide, a little blonde fresh out of high school by the name of Beth, take a seat on the other side of him. She and Rick plan on entering nursing school together, and are close friends through working with one another at the hospital. “I go in the same fucking day and time next week, write more dreams down, and repeat until the six-month mark hits.”

“Eugh.” Beth grimaces. “At least tell me the room is nice.” She shares a thick accent with Rick, though hers is a little stronger. Negan almost feels like he doesn’t belong in Virginia, because if he has any accent at all, he sure as shit doesn’t hear it. Maybe he came from somewhere else. Despite that, he wouldn’t have the heart to leave Newton. It’s a small town, and that’s just the way he likes it. With Williamsburg not but a handful of miles away, it’s perfect.

He takes some comfort in knowing that Rick isn’t initially from Virginia.

“The room’s a goddamn wonderland,” Negan responds. “Better than my apartment by a fucking landslide.”

“I just said ‘language’,” Tyreese scolds again. “Save that stuff for after midnight, will you?” Not far from Tyreese, a nurse by the name of Karen laughs to herself. She’s used to this.

Negan just shrugs. “Sorry, boss.”

“And none of that boss shit.” Tyreese laughs.

“Why the hell are you allowed to curse and I’m not?” Negan defends.

“Oh, come on.” Tyreese raises his eyebrows. “You got like six bad words on me right now, Negan.”

“Fair enough.”

It’s then that the phone decides to ring and the first new admit is referred up to them. Rick takes this one, and while Negan and Beth watch call lights, he disappears down to the ER to receive his new patient.

The day only gets busier from there, and with Negan’s exhaustion playing hard on his brain, it becomes difficult to focus. But somehow, he gets through it. At the very least, he has a good, long sleep ahead of him once seven in the morning hits.

On the way out, Rick looks concerned. He’s cradling the half-full container of macaroni in his arms, having agreed to wash it out and return it once he and his kids are finished eating it, as he frowns at Negan.

“You gonna be able to drive home alright?”

Negan nods slowly, though doubt seeps out of his words before he can even speak them. “Yeah, I think I got this. It’s not a long drive.”

“Let me give you a ride,” Rick pleads. “I still need you for two more shifts this week—you end up dyin’ on me or becoming one of my patients and I’m gonna require a truckload more food from you to make up for it.”

Negan rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna die…or wreck. If I fall asleep, I’ll pull over.”

Rick scoffs. “Listen to yourself—if you fall asleep, you’ll pull over. If you fall asleep, you’ll _swerve_ over and cause a whole big mess for a whole bunch of people. Please, just let me drive you. I’ll pick you up tonight for work and everything.”

Negan hesitates, before flashing a flirtatious grin his friend’s way. “You’re a man after my heart, Rick Grimes.”

Rick’s cheeks flush a red that Negan only barely notices, before he stammers out a quick, “You say the weirdest shit sometimes, Negan.”

But how does a guy turn down a ride after someone cares so deeply for him? Negan wonders what kind of life he lived before all this mess, and if waking up anew changed him any. He thinks about the possibilities of what might happen if he does get his memories back after this study. Will he and Rick still be friends?

He supposes the only way to find out is this study. At least, in the foreseeable future. He can’t honestly hope for a best-case scenario in which he wakes up and every mental Lego is back in its place on the pirate fortress that makes up his brain.

Either way, he pushes the thoughts aside and follows Rick to his vehicle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick's POV this time! 
> 
> Most often, my works are written from one specific POV. This fic is an attempt to do something a little different. It's not going to go all over the place, though. It's just going to alternate between Rick and Negan. Future works may be a little more adventurous, haha.
> 
> Hope you continue to enjoy this!

From the very start, Negan has always been an interesting guy. Rick hasn’t really known what to think about him, even a year after having met him. And really, who knows what to think about someone who doesn’t even know what to think about themselves?

Negan has amnesia…or something like that. Rick tries not to pry too much. In the year they’ve known one another, Negan has expressed curiosity about his memories, but he also seems anxious about it. Rick feels it’s something that Negan needs to approach at his own pace.

But he likes the guy.

A lot.

Negan is rough around the edges and possesses a colorful vocabulary that should far outweigh the span of his memories. He’s loud and surly and kind of a pain in the ass. But he’s a good person. Rick wants him to feel better in his own skin, and if he’s being honest, he kind of wants to know what Negan before the amnesia was like. He finds it hard to believe that he’ll be too much different than he is now. But memories affect people differently, so there’s honestly no telling.

Either way, none of these items are reasons why he recommended Negan to the clinical trial sleep study he’d learned about. In fact, he was hesitant to bring it to the guy’s attention in the first place. But in the end, he’d deduced that it was likely a better idea to bring it up and piss Negan off a little with the offer to learn more about himself still out there than to just leave him hanging.

Negan had actually been pretty okay with it. At first, he had thought Rick was joking. Made some quip about how his situation was unorthodox, but not _that_ unrealistic. But when Rick offered him paperwork he’d collected from the sleep unit, he’d been met with the most dumbfounded of looks. Negan had scratched at the side of his head, almost looking embarrassed, and then looked back at Rick and cleared his throat.

 _“This is a cool as fuck opportunity that I’d be a big damn dumbass to turn down,”_ he’d started, all awkward glances and shrunken demeanor that had made Rick feel like he was interacting with a totally different person, _“but I gotta ask—why’s this matter to you so much?”_

Rick honestly hadn’t known how to answer him. He’d found himself looking just as uncomfortable as Negan did, and telling him that he wasn’t sure—that maybe this was what friends did for one another.

Little had he known, calling himself Negan’s friend had been exactly the push the man had needed. Just how lonely had this guy been before he’d happened upon his job at the hospital? Apparently enough that he had chosen to befriend the only single dad on the med/surg floor. Yeah, Rick had been his trainer, but he’d never expected to hit it off with a guy like Negan.

Except, they _really_ hit it off. It had been kind of awkward at first, but that part had been so shockingly short-lived that it hardly seems important anymore. They rapidly bypassed being polite acquaintances and went straight for close friends—the kind of friends who change one another’s phone backgrounds and ringtones without asking. Which also means that they at some point crossed the unspoken threshold that is learning one another’s phone passwords. In the course of just under one year, the two men had become comfortable enough with one another to trust them with all the information stored in one cellphone.

At one point, Rick had asked Negan if he had looked around in his own phone to see if any clues to his past were in there, and he’d found out with some disappointment that Negan had been forced to buy a new one when he realized he didn’t recall the password to the one before he’d woken up with zero memories.

So maybe Negan doesn’t have any big, heavy secrets on his phone for Rick to happen upon and that just makes trusting him with the device easier, but Rick is actually trusting Negan with a _lot_ when he hands over his own phone. It’s with text messages with friends and pictures of his family, and other important bits of information he’s got saved on there.

So far, Rick has no reason to regret having offered that kind of trust to Negan.

At present, they’re sitting in Rick’s house, with Negan fast asleep on the couch next to him and the kids away at school. Negan, because of his shift, has yet to meet Rick’s children, but he’s seen plenty of pictures. Rick’s intuition tells him that when it does happen, Negan will warm straight up to them, and while Carl will have to get used to him a bit, Judith is going to enjoy the hell out of him. Which, even from a friend, is important. Especially since Rick has invited Negan into his house.

Judging by the fact that Rick still doesn’t regret that decision, he has a feeling their friendship still has plenty of mileage left.

Besides, it’s easy to think Negan’s a pretty nice guy when Rick gets to spectate him like this. He’s sitting on the far side of the couch, while Negan occupies the rest of it, completely unconscious. He’s utterly unaware of the rest of the world around him right now, his face the very picture of peaceful, not a hint of a sly flirt or vulgar comment or flagrant use of the ‘f’ word in sight. He snores softly, a closed-mouthed sleeper, his body as unmoving as if he’s dead to the world.

Rick smiles, a fondness even he doesn’t understand washing over him. He catches himself thinking that maybe Negan is an added improvement to his life, and that he’d never expected to be this close to one of his coworkers.

But that’s enough sentimental thinking for now. Negan has been passed out on Rick’s couch for a good hour and a half, and Carl and Judith get home around five, which means Rick needs to get rested in time to get up and get around before his kids get home, so he can spend some of his time with them.

Night shift is challenging when it comes to finding time to spend with the kids. It’s true that Rick works twelve-hour shifts and therefore only three days a week, but his sleep schedule and the kids’ school schedules makes interaction a bit daunting of a task. Rick gets home from work after Carl has fed himself and Judith and left for school. It’s a godsend that Carl has his license and drives Judith to kindergarten and then to activities and back each day. Rick just needs to worry about sleeping and supper then. Some mornings, he gets up on his days off and eats breakfast with them, though.

Carl is thankfully very understanding about the situation. He gets it because he knows Rick is trying to make it work after losing his wife and his children’s mother to childbirth over half a decade ago. Rick doesn’t know what he’s going to do when Carl heads off to college next year. At least he has time to think about it.

In any case, Rick pushes himself up as quietly as he can and sneaks off to steal a few zees in his own room.

He wakes a handful of hours later to the warm, welcoming scent of something baking in the oven. It smells savory, and Rick realizes with delight that it’s probably their supper for this evening’s shift. Negan’s cooking smells even better filtering into Rick’s bedroom than offered to him in tupperwares at work, and his stomach growls at the realization that he’s about to be fed.

He pushes himself out of bed and shuffles into his living room. His house has an open kitchen, so when he enters, he can see Negan hard at work.

Rick outright laughs at the sight. Negan’s still in his scrubs from the previous night, and said scrubs are covered in splatters of the delicious meal he’s been hard at work creating. The gray uniform is now also painted red and white and yellow.

“About time your ass woke up,” Negan greets, seemingly choosing to ignore Rick’s laughter.

“Yeah, well,” Rick smirks, moving into the kitchen. He shamelessly dips a finger into the concoction Negan has stewing on the stove. “My bed was especially comfortable today.” He licks the mess from his finger. “…Shit, this is good.”

Negan grins proudly. “Just making up for the ride you gave me and you letting me crash on your couch.” He shrugs. “You’re fucking welcome.”

“…Thanks?” Rick tries, though he honestly doesn’t detect any hostility in Negan’s words.

“Your supply is shit here, by the way.” Negan nods to Rick’s pantry. “Gotta wonder what you feed your kids on a regular basis.”

Rick laughs. “Carl’s a good cook, but we mostly eat what you make.”

“You fucking shitting me?” Negan looks like Rick had just told him he feeds his children piss. “I know I cook a lot for you, but not goddamn enough, apparently.” He spends a few moments in silent contemplation. “Tell you what—next couple of days we get off, you’re inviting me back over and we’re going grocery shopping.”

See, this is why Rick enjoys Negan so much. He’s a little hard to get used to, but he’s also a really good person. He probably thinks he’s coming off as the defiant fatherly figure, but he’s actually just being exactly the kind of friend Rick needs.

This draws a smile to Rick’s face. “That mean you’re gonna cook for me even more, now?”

Negan scoffs. “It means I’m gonna teach your spindly ass how to cook by example, and not only are you going to fucking _love_ it, but you’ll have more than something with microwave instructions on it to choose from as a meal alternative. Your kids will be thanking you.”

Rick takes another sample of the dish, which results in a harsh slap atop the hand. He retracts the limb, and then closes his eyes, offering the older man a peaceful smile. “Fine. You’re invited.” A glance at the clock tells him it’s past five. They’ll have to be getting ready for work soon. Negan still needs clean scrubs. “Where are the kids?”

“Maggie’s—isn’t that your friend who’s related to Beth?” When Rick nods, Negan continues. “Your boy said he and his sister were gonna hang out there.”

Rick almost feels a hint of disappointment for not getting to witness Negan meeting his kids, but going by the calm way with which Negan talks about the situation, it had all happened quickly enough that there probably weren’t even any introductions. Rick spends enough time with Negan that Carl probably already knew who he was by his presence alone.

With that, he brushes the thought off and decides to hop into the shower.

\--- --- --- --- ---

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Negan’s rage can be unnerving sometimes, but it’s not always unfounded. Today is one of those days where it makes perfect sense to be upset.

They’ve walked in to short staffing and a full med/surg floor. It’s just Rick, Negan, Beth, and the one charge nurse, Tyreese. Report is hell, and as the previous shift gives out information and vitals sheets, they all look apologetic and overwhelmed. Rick gets the feeling that they didn’t expect this kind of shitstorm, either. He just smiles in understanding back at them.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Negan basically repeats, and Rick nudges him in response.

“It sucks,” he says, “but it’s not the end of the world. We can do this.”

Negan doesn’t look convinced, but Rick watches him look at Beth, who is smiling reassuringly at him.

“Twelve hours like this is nothin’ compared to a day on the farm,” She muses, ignoring the way Negan scoffs.

They waltz out of that break room and right into chaos. Rick will be the first to admit that the night shift isn’t as fast-paced as the day shift, but once they get out there, they don’t stop. They’re a loosely-coordinated mess of frantically attempting to answer call lights and get vitals taken on time. In the end, Rick delegates Negan and Beth to lights while he takes vitals for every single patient on the med/surg floor.

Which works out pretty well, and is also how Rick meets someone who will change his and Negan’s lives forever—a little girl by the name of Clementine.

Normally, children would go straight to the pediatric unit, but a fire tearing through an apartment complex has the pediatric unit completely full. And since Clementine’s temporary guardian is also being treated for injuries from said fire, they opt for a room together on the med/surg floor.

Lee Everett is a neighbor of Clementine’s, according to the report Rick was given. Clementine's family was killed in the fire, and all attempts thus far to contact her less immediate relatives have been failed ones. Lee, who didn’t really know Clementine up until he rescued her, is all she has left. Social Services has been contacted, but until they can come in, Everett has been put in tentative charge of Clementine.

Both of their injuries are manageable, and they’re looking at being released within the next week. For Lee, it’s some moderate burning on his arms and torso, and his stay will likely be longer than Clementine’s. Thanks to Lee, Clementine has no major burning, but she is being treated for some lung damage from smoke inhalation. It’s been assumed that she spent a great deal of time hiding before Lee found her.

Clementine hasn’t spoken since she received the news about her parents. Rick isn’t sure what to expect when he steps into the room, so he does so cautiously.

Clementine is just a few years older than Judith, who is six, but she looks roughly the same age in her current posture. Her hospital gown has little chickens printed on it, and it covers her knees, which are drawn up on her chest, her arms curled around them. Her gaze is fixed straight ahead, but when she hears Rick enter, she turns to look at him. Her golden eyes are big and intense and she looks positively terrified. She swallows at the sight of him, and curls her arms more tightly around her small frame.

“Hi, Clementine.” Rick smiles warmly, a skill being a father of two has made him quite proficient at. “My name’s Rick. It’s nice to meet you.”

As he approaches, Clementine turns her focus to Lee, looking hesitant. Lee seems to know exactly what she wants to say, and a soft chuckle escapes him.

“It’s okay, sweet pea,” He answers.” He’s not gonna give you a shot.”

A weak smile forms on the girl’s lips, before she turns her gaze back to Rick, who clears his throat. “You won’t have to ever worry about gettin’ a shot from me. Now, you see a big guy in green scrubs—he always wears green scrubs—come and call on me and I’ll give him the business.” He’s always poking fun at Tyreese. It’s just part of their friendship.

Clementine giggles, though the little smile on her lips fades when the blood pressure cuff is placed around her arm. Rick watches her struggle through the discomfort of the cuff tightening, and then when it’s done, she exhales loudly. Another desperate glance is thrown Lee’s way.

“You did good, Clem. Now, you just gotta let him take your temperature,” Lee says with a smile.

When Rick finishes up, the girl looks as if she’s feeling much more comfortable around him. She reaches for the pitcher sitting on the bedside table, and Rick passes it to her. Afterward, he moves to take Lee’s vitals. Meeting his eyes is soothing in a way. Lee bears a set of warm chocolate brown eyes that stand out even against the tired circles beneath them. His forehead has wrinkles that tell Rick he’s got wisdom far beyond his years. It’s like he just…knows things.

He’s instantly not just a patient. Rick finds a friend in him, and fast.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks, nodding to Lee’s arms. “Any pain?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, really,” Lee responds. The hospital gown doesn’t hide any of the burns on his arms. In some spots, they’re welted, and in others, the skin has blistered and almost looks scarred. Rick winces at the sight and thanks his lucky stars they haven’t extended up to his upper arms, where he’s going to take Lee’s blood pressure from. “Stings a little, but that’s about it.”

“You’re tougher than me.” Rick chuckles, pressing the button on the machine. As it buzzes and air fills the cuff on Lee’s arm, the patient cocks an eyebrow at his aide.

“I don’t know about that.” Lee is so reassuring. His voice is praising, like in the way Rick is when Carl brings home a test he scored well on or Judith shows him she can tie her shoes. “You might not be a nurse, but you do a lot. I hear you guys runnin’ around like crazy people out there.”

“That’s nothin’ compared to second and third-degree burns,” Rick concedes. “But I appreciate the vote of confidence. It’s gonna be a tough night, so I’ll take all the reassurance I can get.”

“That’s all I can ask of you, then,” Lee responds with a laugh. “Look…Clementine likes you and I know you need a break, so if you get some time, come hang out in here with me. I don’t sleep good lately, so you won’t be botherin’ anyone.”

Rick spares a glance over at Clementine, but the little girl has fallen asleep in her bed, all curled up. He doesn’t want to wake her, but he also has a feeling Lee wouldn’t invite him if he was worried about disturbing her. So he smiles, offers the man a nod, and after scribbling vitals down on his flow sheet, returns the cuff back to the machine.

“Thanks, Lee. I’ll keep that in mind. Right now…” Rick nods toward the doorway.

“I know, you’re busy.” Lee only smiles back. “Just don’t be a stranger.”

“Yeah,” Rick replies, “you got it.”

As it turns out, a break is not one of the things that any of the staff on the med/surg floor get that evening. Rick and Beth and Negan are busy answering lights and handling emergencies left and right. In the middle of ambulating a man two days out of hernia surgery, the man collapses and codes right in the middle of the hall. The end result is a code blue over the intercom, Tyreese and Beth performing CPR, before they manage to revive the man and send him to ICU, and four very tired staff members with little to no sanity left.

On the bright side, the night goes by quickly as a result. Soon enough, Rick and Negan are walking out to their vehicles together, Rick clutching yet another half-eaten container of food made by his trusted friend. Negan makes Rick swear that they’re going to utilize a couple of their mutual days off to get him groceries, and then they bid each other goodbye for the day.

\--- --- --- --- ---

As it turns out, Lee and Clementine become an important part of Rick’s life rather quickly. He visits them on his days off, bringing Judith and Carl out to see them. While Carl watches the two girls curl up together to watch television, Rick spends his time with Lee.

He quickly learns that they still haven’t gotten into contact with Clementine’s parents. He also learns that Lee wants to adopt her. He doesn’t know how long this man has known Clementine. In fact, he doesn’t know much other than the fact that they were neighbors. But the bond between them has the strength of a father and a daughter, so Rick puts faith into the thought that this wouldn’t be a bad idea. If the rest of the family can’t be reached, what other choice does Clementine have?

Much to Lee’s dismay, that choice is for her to go into foster care until they figure something out for her. The social worker has already been in and informed him that chances of him being able to adopt her without much social ground are going to be slim right away. There will need to be screenings, and investigations on the cause of the fire are still underway. From the sound of it, Clementine is going to be dismissed and sent to a foster home soon. Lee, whose burns are still well on the mend, will be sent to the burn unit, which has since gone down in census.

“No girl her age should have to be in foster care,” Lee despairs to Rick. “For Christ’s sake, she hasn’t spoken a word since the fire! How in the hell is she gonna handle a home with a bunch of people she doesn’t know? Goin’ from foster family to foster family…”

Rick’s known Lee for all of five days, but he already finds himself steeling and looking into those brown eyes. “…What can I do to help?”

Maybe it’s just instinct. Maybe it’s just knowing the way a father looks at his children. Rick isn’t sure exactly what it is. But he knows he’s got faith in this guy. He knows he wants to make sure that Clementine doesn’t have to be alone.

In the end, he finds himself at Negan’s apartment. They’re sitting out on the balcony of said apartment, enjoying the chill of the late October breeze, when Rick slumps over the railing and spills the beans on the whole situation.

Negan’s gotten to meet Lee and Clementine a couple of times. Not unlike Rick, he connected with the two pretty well. Clementine warmed up to him almost instantly, and even though Lee initially wasn’t entirely sure what to think about him, he accepted the little girl’s judgment on him and decided he couldn’t be all bad.

However, Rick knows for a fact that this is the first time he and Negan have discussed Lee wanting to adopt Clementine. By the time Rick finishes and turns his head to look at his friend, clearly distraught, Negan’s eyes are wide with perplexity.

“…Rick…” Negan reminds in a low voice. “He’s her neighbor. He's only actually known the kid for a couple of weeks. It’s no fucking bullshit that social services isn’t gonna hand her over to him.”

“You’ve seen the way they are around each other,” Rick defends, furrowed brows and all. “He’s a good dad without the papers already. And he doesn’t want her in a foster home.”

“I’m not saying he’s bad,” Negan responds with a shake of his head. “No way, man. Guy’s a fucking godsend to that kid. I sure as shit don’t think a nine-year-old mute girl with the trauma of her parents dying needs to be thrown into fucking foster care, either. It’s just…legally…”

“You’d know all about that,” Rick deadpans cruelly, but when he realizes the unfair jab he just made at Negan’s memory, his bitter expression falters. “Negan, I know—”

“No, I get it.” Negan sighs. “Look, there’s some shit I remember and some shit I don’t. I woke up on a blank slate, but I didn’t forget how to drive or what car was mine or that green means fuckin’ go, so I get it. I’m still figuring it out myself. Be nice if you watched your damned mouth next time, though.”

Rick nods slowly, a mixture of guilt and annoyance on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Negan answers curtly.

“But will you help us?” Yeah, Rick knows it probably isn’t right to be lumping himself right into the group of desperate people that includes Lee and Clementine. But if there’s anyone who’s going to try and do something about it with him, it’d be Negan. One year of friendship with the nearly-fifty-year-old and Rick knows beyond reasonable doubt that even if he disagreed, he’d have Rick’s back. And to have Rick’s back right now means to have Lee’s and Clementine’s.

Negan releases another sigh, this one sounding a little defeated. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?”

In the end, they don’t come up with much. Rick doesn’t know where to start. He eventually breaks out a pen and some paper and decides they should draft out written statements about why they think Lee should at least be given a fair hearing regarding custody of Clementine. He knows it’s all going to depend on what Lee’s background check comes up with and the many meetings he and Clementine are going to have to go through. That poor little girl is probably going to be put through the wringer. At the very least, Rick’s mostly convinced she’ll soon be visiting a therapist, though.

“You know this is insane, right?” Negan laughs, before he passes his scribbled statement to Rick. His handwriting is strangely neat and precise—something Rick can’t say he’s got the gift of. For a moment, the younger man admires that about his friend. Who was he in the past?

That’s the baffling thing about this whole situation. As much as Negan wants to know about himself, Rick wants to know about him. While a part of him had recommended Negan to the sleep study to help his friend out, he honestly wants to know who Negan was before the amnesia. Or the repressed memories. Or whatever.

“Of course, I do.” Rick folds the paper up and tucks it into his jacket pocket. “But we’ll be helpin’ some real good people if this works out.” He flashes Negan a smile, sees the way the other man hesitates in bearing witness to it. It makes him feel warm inside. “Thank you, Negan.”

Negan just shrugs. Rick assumes that’s the other man’s way of giving him the green light to leave. But as he makes his way to the door, fiddling with the zipper, Negan’s voice stops him.

“I was married at some point.”

Rick pauses mid-zip, turning his gaze up to look at Negan. For a moment, the taller man—one who, despite his memory loss, seems to exude confidence—looks utterly lost. He’s standing there looking at Rick, his eyebrows up and eyes half-lidded, hands tucked into the pockets of his sweater, and he almost doesn’t look like himself.

Rick doesn’t speak. He just waits for Negan to continue.

And Negan does. “When I woke up, I found wedding rings. Two of ‘em. Either I was a shitty husband and they took the fuck off, or… 

Rick hears the words without them needing to be spoken. His ears ring with them as if Negan screamed them.

‘ _Or they died._ ’

“Maybe there was some big fuckin’ accident or some shit. Knocked the memories outta my head and the life out of whoever I was married to.”

Rick frowns. “Negan…”

“It’s just a thought.” The larger man shrugs his shoulders. Rick finds some relief in seeing the smile form on his lips again. “Guess I’ll find out if this sleep thing works out right. Which I have to attend again tomorrow, no thanks to you.”

Rick just rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome, Negan.”

With that, he waves to the other man and as he finishes up the job of zipping his coat, and heads out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does one write TWD fanfiction after playing the Telltale games and not include characters from them? Especially Clementine and Zombie Dad? I sure as shit can't avoid it. >_>


	3. Chapter 3

“Agh, god fucking damn it all to hell…!”

Sleep is so much harder this time. Negan doesn’t remember having this much trouble falling asleep last week when he was here. But this time, it’s like the monitors and stickers and the way this bed feels different from his own are all screaming for him to acknowledge them. The room feels isolating and lonely, and the programs playing on the TV are all too annoying to wind down to. He can sleep in whatever position he wants, but none are doing him any good. On the right side, his head hurts. On the left, his arm doesn’t feel right under his body. On his back, he feels like he’s suffocating.

He plays with his phone for a good hour and a half, but when _Bubble Witch_ starts to get annoying, he just gets more frustrated. And since he’s already connected to all this sleep study horse shit, it’s not like he can do anything to wind down there.

It must be the whole night shift thing coming back to haunt him. He’s had the past couple of days off, but his sleep schedule hasn’t really been adjusted that much. It’s just easier to be awake during the night if that’s what your job calls for. When Rick isn’t around, Negan’s playing videogames on an Xbox 360 he’d found in his old apartment that has a penchant for freezing and dying on him. Maybe he should’ve brought that old-ass thing here…

Negan spends three or four hours tossing and turning and cursing, to the point that a nurse—this one goes by Tara—has to come in and readjust his stickers. His body doesn’t let him fall asleep until way too goddamned late, and even then, it feels light and fitful.

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“Stop it, Ma...you’re embarrassing me.”_

_Negan almost instantly recognizes the boy this time. He’s got that same mop of dark hair atop his head, cut into a too-long bowl-cut that just about covers his eyes. In his khaki slacks, belt, and brown and blue plaid button-up, he looks like he feels uncomfortable. Negan knows by now that this is his younger self. For some reason, his subconscious mind allows him to adhere to that fact._

_In fact, it’s like he knows right now he’s asleep in the hospital with a bunch of bullshit hooked up to him all the while spectating this odd flashback-dream thing. Weird._

_His younger self’s mother has long-since passed the verge of tears. Negan thinks this is his first day of school. They’re standing in an old-looking building with concrete halls and cartoon drawings plastered all over their brick walls. One, a blocky-looking figure, has a speech bubble next to it that proclaims, ‘LET’S MAKE LEARNING FUN!’ and Negan thinks the cartoon character looks a lot like the kid version of himself._

_The young Negan is suddenly enveloped into a big hug by his mother, his face muffled against her shoulder._

_“I know, baby…I just can’t help it. You’re growin’ up so big…”_

_“Ma…” Little Negan’s muffled voice groans. “You’re gonna have to let me go sometime. Now c’mon, get offa me!”_

_There are a few tearful hiccup-chuckles before the woman stands back up and takes a couple steps away. She’s smiling. “Don’t forget to—”_

_“—raise my hand before talking or if I gotta pee. Put the seat down. Shake people’s hands when I greet them. Ma, we’ve been all over this.”_

_“You’re right.” The woman wipes her eyes with a tissue, before she finally ushers her son toward the entrance to the kindergarten classroom. “Have a good day, Negan. Listen to your teachers!”_

_Young Negan, however, stops dead in his tracks. He gasps dramatically, and then takes off in a dead sprint into the room. “Holy crap—no way, it’s Lucille! I didn’t know you started school today this year!”_

_Negan feels dizzy as the scenery starts to morph around him. He hears a young girl drone out a muffled “We all start the same day, dummy…” before everything shifts to nauseating shades of black mingling with browns and greens and yellows, and then in a few harrowing seconds, clarity returns._

_This time, it’s winter, though in Virginia, the snow barely covers most of the ground. The child version of himself that Negan’s spectating has got to be around eight or nine years old, now. He’s sitting at the curb, his nose and cheeks red from the cold, hat pulled over his head and ears, and damp gloves clutching a snowball that's made more of grass and dirt than actual snow. Soon, he launches the snowball at his house. It collides roughly with the window. Negan’s momentarily amazed that his younger self has that much strength._

_“I hate him so damn much!” The boy screams at the top of his lungs._

_“That’s a bad word, Negan…” A little girl stands next to him. She’s sporting a bright orange winter coat that’s so long it reaches her calves, with a furry hood pulled over her head. Her hands are in her pockets, and she’s frowning. Negan thinks he sees some wavy, black curls peeking out from her hood._

_“I don’t care,” Negan snarls. “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care! He’s so stupid! YOU HEAR THAT, ASSHOLE? YOU’RE FUCKIN’ STUPID!”_

_“Negan!” The girl squeaks next to him. “You’re gonna get us both into trouble!”_

_At that, the young Negan stops. Cold weather be damned, he drops down to sit on the sidewalk and crosses his arms. Not seconds after he’s done so, the screen door to his house flies open._

_Negan lays eyes on a man that makes his stomach feel like it’s boiling. The man has long hair that falls all over his shoulders and head in messy, unkempt waves. It’s a dark blond—almost brown—and his eyes are so green they make his hair look brighter. He’s got a cigarette clutched between his teeth, and his expression is wracked with anger._

_“Hey! You wanna quiet the fuck down out here!?” The man roars._

_“Go back inside and leave us alone!” The child Negan screams back. As if threatening the man, he pushes himself to his feet and starts rolling up another snowball._

_“Boy,” the man snarls, “you better not finish what you’re doing right now. Your mom and I are trying to sleep.”_

_“Don’t care,” Little Negan sneers back. “Lucille’s cold, and you’re makin’ us stay outside. I want in!”_

_Something flashes in this man’s face—something that makes the older Negan himself want to approach him and sock him in the nose—before said man props the door open with his back and motions with both hands for the boy to come inside._

_“You know what? Go ahead. Get your ass in here.” He shoots the girl a glance. “Lucille, go on home. Negan’s grounded.”_

_The little Negan just glances to the aforementioned Lucille, nodding as if to say ‘it’s okay’, and starts inside._

_The door slams shut a little too hard for Negan’s comfort._

_And then it’s all going black. Somewhere in the darkness, Negan can hear a woman crying. He thinks she sounds like the memory of his mother. His younger self asks if she’s alright, but she doesn’t answer. She just keeps crying._

At some point, the crying shifts to beeping, and consciousness brings Negan back to the hospital. He’s lying on his back on the bed, with his gaze focused up at the ceiling.

He feels numb and jittery.

He knows exactly what he just witnessed in his dream, and it tells him the study’s working. Either that or he's just magically starting to recover his memories.

That man went by Timothy, and he was Negan’s stepfather. Timothy Pritchard. Negan doesn’t remember much, but he knows the name, and he knows why he hates him so much.

Without thinking, he unlocks his phone and pulls Rick up in his contacts, dialing the number and raising the phone to his ear. As he waits for Rick to pick up, he pries the monitors and stickers off his body and sits down at the desk.

He’s got no idea what time it is, but instantly feels a little guilty when Rick picks up and his voice is groggy with sleep. Despite that, he cards fingers he realizes are too shaky through his hair and clears his throat.

“…Rick...Fuck, can you come to my place?”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Negan knows he looks out of place with his mussed hair, sweatpants, and plain white T-shirt under his open jacket, but Rick looks even more so. He’s got his hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail, sleep still heavy in his eyes, sporting a long robe with a pair of dark blue and green plaid flannel pajama pants. He’s staring Negan down warily as the older man puffs away on a cigarette.

Negan hadn’t been able to help himself. As soon as he’d left the hospital, he’d stopped by the gas station and picked up a pack of L&M menthols—something he knows by muscle memory he had at one point preferred to smoke. He cocks an eyebrow.

“This is nothing,” He provides simply, knowingly. Rick’s never seen him smoke before, after all. “I used to be a pack-a-day smoker at some point. Can’t tell you when, because I _don’t fucking remember_.”

Rick sighs. “Why’d you need me? Can you tell me what’s wrong, Negan?”

Negan knows he’s a bundle of nerves. He can feel them bouncing around in his head like exploding popcorn kernels. He’s not shaking anymore, but the stress is far from melting away. He tries to flash an apologetic smile Rick’s way, but it’s feeble at best.

“I had a stepdad. He was a real doucher—used to beat on my mom and I.” Negan doesn’t dare look Rick’s way. “One day—I think I was ten or so—he caught me smoking one of his cigarettes. Fucking went _off_. Carried me by the arm all the way into the backyard, sat me down on the back steps, and handed me the cigarettes. Made me sit my ass down and smoke every single one.”

“…Jesus.” Rick sounds more awake, now.

“I choked a lot, and he just kept saying shit about how I’d never smoke again now. I was sick to my stomach for days. Fuckin’ jackass told my mom it was because I _ate_ one of his cigarettes—like ten-year-old me was stupid enough not to know what a goddamn cigarette looked like. He told me if he caught me smoking again, he’d make me suck down an entire carton.”

He finally glances over to Rick, who is frowning deeply. “…You kept smokin’ them?”

“Not right away, no.” Negan takes a long puff on the cigarette. This has been his third one in less than an hour. He can tell he hasn’t smoked in a long time, because the nicotine is starting to make him feel light-headed. He kind of likes the sensation. It makes him less tense. “I started some years later—again, can’t fucking tell you exactly when—and he caught me. I don’t remember why, but he never made me smoke that carton.”

He feels the gentle bump of Rick’s shoulder against his own as they stand out on that balcony in the crisp, morning air. It’s a lot colder in the early morning hours than when Negan usually comes out here. But honestly, he doesn’t want to go back in. It’s stifling in his apartment.

“I’m sorry, Negan. That sounds like hell. Is this the first real memory you got?”

“Aside from what you read in that book last week, yeah.” Negan shrugs. “I mean, maybe it’s not that big a fucking deal—people have been through way worse than that. I just…I saw him in that dream, and I laid eyes on his face, and I wanted to _kill him_. I think I liked baseball or some shit, because the first thing I thought about doing was bashing his skull in with a bat.”

“That’s a little creepy,” Rick laughs despite the words, “but I think it’s natural. Especially if you knew what the guy was capable of.”

Negan just shrugs. “I don’t like this feeling. I don’t have any idea where the bastard is…or my fucking mom for that matter. Don’t remember _her_ name, but I remember his. How fucked is that?”

“I don’t think it’s fucked at all,” Rick answers quickly—so quickly, in fact, that Negan finds himself feeling a little whiplash moving so fast to regard the man. Rick’s blue eyes are focused straight ahead. “You’ve gotta remember you’ve only been through two of these sleep things. If it really is workin’, it’s probably gonna take a while to get everything. Just be glad you got somethin’ out of this one.”

Negan scowls, before he snuffs his cigarette out and stuffs it into an empty pop can he’s had sitting on his balcony for way too long. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Doesn’t make it feel any better.”

As he and Rick make their way back into the apartment, Rick adjusts his robe over his chest and then turns to face Negan with a smile.

“I know somethin’ that’ll make you feel better. Just let me go home and get dressed.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

In the end, Rick takes Negan with him to his house. Negan has since changed into something a little more appropriate—switched the sweatpants out for a pair of dark blue jeans and brushed his teeth and hair—and once Rick dresses into a loose blue and black plaid button-up and an extremely old-looking pair of light gray jeans, they head off to the store.

Oh, right. Negan was going to stock Rick’s kitchen for him and teach him how to cook and shit. So Rick’s taking him to do that. Rick has the evening off, but Negan’s really not concerned about losing sleep. He’s still wide awake. Going on about three hours of sleep, he figures that’s probably a good thing. He’ll tucker out just in time to get a handful more hours, and he’ll be good.

“I’m gonna be honest,” Rick starts as he parks the car at the grocery store. “It’s been a long time since I last went on a grocery run for anything that wasn’t microwavable.” He looks sheepish, and as a laugh escapes him, Negan can’t help but think that this shy Rick Grimes is kind of endearing.

“That’s okay,” Negan grins. “I’m about to show you the ropes, baby.”

“Baby?” Rick laughs again.

“It sounded good.” Negan shrugs.

In the store, Rick’s like a lost puppy, following Negan along as the older man instructs him about cooking as if Rick’s never touched an oven mitt before. Hell, for all Negan knows, the guy hasn’t. Either way, he’s got Rick’s cart stuffed with the bare essentials—a 5-pack of macaroni and cheese— _‘you can never fucking not throw mac and cheese into something else and make something good. How in the hell do you think Hamburger Helper became a thing?’—_ a loaf of bread, two cans of basically every vegetable on the shelf, a few different kinds of dry pasta, tomato sauce, and even more.

“You’re gonna make me go broke,” Rick practically wheezes as Negan pulls the cart by its front out and toward the dairy section.

Negan cranes his head toward his friend and flashes him a smile. “I’ll make it up to you in good meals.”

“You always make it up to me in good meals,” Rick deadpans. Negan gets more amusement than anything out of the unimpressed look on the smaller man’s face.

“Difference is,” Negan says, inspecting a carton of eggs, “this time, you’re gonna get more than a full belly out of it. You’re gonna learn how to make this stuff for yourself.”

When Negan places the eggs into the front of the cart and makes eye contact with Rick, the younger man doesn’t look convinced.

“Honestly, I just don’t think I have what it takes. Some people just can't cook, Negan.”

Negan pauses. Hell, maybe Rick is right. Maybe he can’t cook, and just doesn’t possess some innate ability to do so. It’s kind of like how not everyone has the green thumb to garden with. But is that going to stop Negan from blowing half of Rick’s paycheck on food? Not a fucking chance. At the very least, Rick is going to get schooled on how to cook something fresh at home. If he doesn’t pass, so be it. Rick will just have to rely on Negan’s cooking and the fact that they almost always work the same nights together. Tonight is a rare exception.

“You are _not_ talking me out of fucking up your bank account with food right now, Rick.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

When they get home and Negan starts digging through Rick’s kitchen cabinets for things to cook in, Rick already seems more apt to watching over Negan’s shoulder as opposed to diving right in. Negan makes quick on fixing that. He steps back and leans against the counter next to the stove, nodding to the actual owner of this disappointingly-massive kitchen.

“Find me something to bake in. It doesn’t need to be any bigger than a cake pan,” Negan instructs. “C’mon, I know you’ve at least got a good fucking pair of eyes.”

Rick rolls that good pair of eyes, and then digs around until he pulls out exactly the cake pan Negan was asking for. “Okay…so what’re we makin’?”

“Something easy,” Negan answers. “Pork chops. We’ll bake ‘em in cream of mushroom soup, throw in some peppers and seasoning, and you’ve got yourself a home-cooked meal.”

Rick looks optimistic. “…Sounds easy.”

“That’s the spirit, Rick,” Negan praises.

He continues along that route, watching as Rick follows every step he gives him. With the kids at school and it only nearing lunch time, they’ll have plenty of leftovers for when Negan has to head home and get ready for work and Rick has to provide supper for his children.

It actually smells pretty good, though Negan figures this kind of meal is newbie-proof. You honestly just throw some meat into a pan with whatever flavor you want it to have and bake it until it’s done. The end result is almost always going to be a savory meal with seasoning cooked into it, the only unfortunate downside being the pan’s a little hard to wash afterward.

Negan takes care of that, though. After he and Rick enjoy the meal they concocted together, Negan cleans up Rick’s kitchen and stores the leftovers in the fridge. Once he’s done, he moves to stand next to the couch, though he doesn’t sit down. He’s grinning down at Rick.

“See? I fucking knew you had it in you.”

Rick shrugs. “It was pork chops. We’ll see what you make me cook next time.” He hesitates for a moment, before he smiles back up at his friend again. “…Thank you, Negan. It was fun. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah, actually.” Negan’s grin widens. “It’s just the load off I needed.”

“You ever think about how you know so much about cooking?” Rick asks, damn near out of the blue.

Negan frowns. “Not really, no. Always just assumed it was a hobby or some shit. I don’t think I had a job in it or anything.”

“You could,” Rick thinks aloud. “You really know your stuff. It’s like food is your science or some shit. Maybe that’s what you need to be—a chef.”

Negan isn’t sure how to respond to that. In the end, he lets out a sigh and turns his attention away, toward the television. “I dunno about that. I don’t think I’ve got any education to set an example with.”

“You could.” Rick’s smile is genuine and big and almost comically warm. “We all gotta start somewhere.”

“I’m almost fifty fucking years old,” Negan reminds him. “I had my start. It’s probably a little late for a continuation.”

Rick’s smile falters a little. “That’s…really negative, even for you.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Negan and Rick don’t spend much time hanging out the rest of that day. In the end, they both decide that Negan’s got to get some sleep before work, so Rick drops him back off at home, and he snags himself a shower, before tucking himself into bed.

It feels good to be lying down in his own bed again. Negan’s only got a year of experience to go on, but he likes the spot his body has all-but molded into his mattress, and how he shifts into it perfectly every time. All his body parts have a place to go, his arms over the comforter while he lies on his back and just lets his thoughts wind him down.

Tonight, he’ll be working with Beth and a trainee. Negan hasn’t met this trainee yet, but he knows that the usual game plan is for Rick to do the training. Seeing as Rick’s got the night off, Negan figures he’s just going to have to buck up and show them the ropes.

Negan’s actually looking forward to it. It’ll be a nice change of pace to be training someone nonstop—it’ll make the shift go more quickly, and with Beth’s cheery smiles to keep him going if the fucker ends up being a pain the ass to train, Negan knows he’ll get through it. At the very least, he’s got the day off tomorrow and Rick will have to take over the training, so whatever damage he’s done can be un-done by Rick later.

Rick has all the potential to be the nurse he aspires to be. He’s quick at his job and friendly with patients and staff. His ability to listen to doctors without complaint is pretty admirable, too. Negan stays the fuck away from the doctors himself, because he’s not as strong-willed and patient as Rick is. He’d end up popping off and saying something that would likely get him fired. Thankfully, the doctors aren’t out much during the night shift, unless it’s an emergency.

But the point is, Rick is damn good at every aspect of his job. Why he hasn’t tried to enroll in the nursing program yet is beyond Negan. Is it because of his kids? His bills?

Yeah…that would probably suck. Poor guy wants to take the next step in his life, but if he does, he risks being so broke it borders on homelessness. If Negan recalls right, Rick said something about most nursing programs recommending you not work more than eighteen hours a week or some shit…Jesus H. Christ.

Negan’s wandering thoughts just about have him passing the fuck out, but a flicker of black snaps him right back to the present. He follows the little glimmer, until his blood freezes right in his veins.

There’s a boy standing across the room from Negan.

Negan’s sitting utterly still in his bed, eyes locked straight forward, as a figure stands in wait, almost against the wall. It stares straight at Negan.

No, it fucking _glares_ at him.

The boy looks about eight or nine years old, and he’s sporting a plaid button-up, belt, and khaki pants, with a knit cap atop his head. The material is pulled down well over his forehead, damn near covering his eyes and plastering black strands of hair all over his face.

Negan doesn’t see any color in those eyes. They look black, covering the entirety of what’s visible within the open eyelids. There’s a scowl on the boy’s face and he stands with his hands at his sides, balled up into little fists, just glaring.

The boy doesn’t say or do anything. He just stands there, meeting Negan’s gaze with his own, and then like a glitching image on a digital screen, fizzles out into nothingness and leaves Negan sitting there, propped up in his bed, paralyzed with fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to those following this work! I know it's a little unorthodox and the pacing is odd, but I've got everything going this way for a reason. Your support means more than I can say. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, so much, for all of you who are taking time to read this and leave feedback on it. I know it's one of my weirder works, so it means the world that anyone's even giving this thing the time of day.

Rick goes to visit Lee and Clementine on his evening off. Judith has fallen asleep in her brother’s bed, so Rick just asks Carl to keep an eye on his sister and heads off. He arrives a handful of hours into Negan’s shift, though the man is so busy training their new aide that he figures he’ll give Negan a hello later on in the form of coffee and maybe even some food.

For now, he focuses on making his way into Lee and Clementine’s room. Lee is wide awake, but Clementine is snoring softly across the room in her bed. She looks like she hasn’t been asleep long. A good thing, because Rick would’ve felt bad showing up with her awake and no Judith to spend time with. Also a good thing, because it’s pushing nine-thirty right now.

Lee sees Rick instantly, and his expression brightens, though he’s far from smiling. Rick finds out not even two seconds later why.

“Clem gets released tomorrow.”

The words are spoken in a somber tone, and even though Lee looks happy to see Rick, the news he’s been faced with makes him seem anything but. Rick pulls a seat up next to him.

“Where is she gonna go?” As much as he’s always known Clementine was going to get discharged from the hospital before Lee, he doesn’t feel any more ready for it than Lee looks. The little girl still hasn’t spoken a word, and at the same time, she’s made this entire floor feel bright and full of energy during the entirety of her stay here. A gift, considering the trauma she’s less than a month out of encountering.

“They found her a foster home here in town,” Lee answers. “She got to meet the family. She likes them.” By the time he’s finished talking, he’s wiping at the back of his neck with his hand. Rick’s shoulders slump as he bears witness to such a gesture of hopelessness.

“That’s a good thing, Lee,” Rick reminds him. “She likes them, and that’s good. Until she finds a forever home, that’s the best you… _we_ …can ask for. Speakin’ of ‘we’…” Rick starts rifling through his pockets, until he finds the folded-up papers he and Negan had scribbled out the other day. He passes them to Lee. “Negan and I wrote up statements about how you’ve treated Clementine since you guys have been here. It’s not much, but when you start workin’ on adopting her, I figured this would help.”

Lee looks genuinely shocked by the gesture as he accepts the papers. He doesn’t unfold them right away, though. Instead, he sets them down onto the table next to his bed and reaches out to close his fingers around Rick’s shoulder. The strength of the grasp tells Rick all he needs to know.

“…Thank you so much, Rick. I don’t even know where to start.” Lee clears his throat. “I know this whole thing seems weird and all, since it doesn’t look like I knew Clem at all before all this, but it means the world to me that you’re tryin’ to help both of us out like this.”

“You’re the only one she trusts,” Rick responds bluntly, all the seriousness in the world resting on the forefront of his features. “I think she needs to go with you. _Did_ you know her before the fire?”

“Kind of,” Lee admits. “Not really. I mean, we were neighbors, so we’d see each other in passing, and her parents and I made small talk in the halls. But rescuin’ her and bein’ here with her…that’s the longest amount of time I’ve actually spent with her.”

“Did she talk before this?” Rick wonders.

“Yeah. A lot.” Lee smiles to himself, though Rick bears witness to it. “She talked to everyone, even if she did it hiding behind her parents. She’s shy, but she likes people.”

Rick turns his attention to her. “I bet she has a sweet voice.”

“She does,” Lee confirms with a smile. Afterward, he holds the papers up. “Anyway, I’ll give these to the social worker when I get to talk to them. Rick, I dunno why you’re doin’ all this for me, but I really appreciate it.”

Rick shakes his head. “Don’t mention it. It’s the right thing to do. If Judy or Carl had been in the same position, I would hope there was someone who could do the same for them…”

Lee sighs, before he slumps back in his bed. “Yeah.”

Just then, the curtains swish abruptly sideways, and Rick finds himself face-to-face with Negan and a man with his hair pulled back into a bun and a beard hanging long from his chin. The scrubs tell Rick it’s Negan’s trainee.

“I thought I saw your ass come in here.” Negan looks exhausted, and it’s only been a handful of hours since he came in. Next to him, his trainee doesn’t look much better.

“Hey, Negan,” Lee smiles at him. He nods toward Clementine just as Negan’s about to speak. Instantly, the man tenses and mouths an apology.

His next words are spoken in a lower voice. “I’m just here for your vitals.” His shoulders slump. “That means I’m gonna have to get hers, too.”

Lee shrugs. “Fair enough.” Either way, he extends his arm. Negan nods to the bearded man next to him, who immediately slips into action and stands by Lee’s side. As the cuff starts taking blood pressure, Rick turns his attention up to the man on Lee’s other side.

“You’re the new guy, huh?”

“That’s me.” The man has a soft voice and vibrant blue eyes that even Rick can see in the dimly lit hospital room. “My name’s Paul.”

“Friends call him Jesus, though,” Negan adds with a smirk. “I like that one better.”

“Jesus, eh?” Lee chuckles.

“Yeah,” the aforementioned ‘Jesus’ agrees with a laugh. “I don’t imagine that one’ll fly here, though.”

“I don’t see why not,” Rick responds, smiling. “We’re all pretty laid-back, here.”

“I don’t mind it,” Lee confirms.

Jesus grins down at both of them, then removes the cuff from Lee’s arm. “Thanks, guys. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“This guy,” Negan motions to Rick, “is part of the med/surg team. His name’s Rick, as he so rudely chose not to introduce himself.”

Rick cocks an eyebrow. “I was gettin’ there. Nice to meet you, Jesus.” He shakes the man’s hand.

After Jesus finishes with Lee and the introductions, he moves to take Clementine’s vitals. The other three men in the room quickly notice how gentle and kind he is with the little girl. She barely stirs as he hooks the cuff around her arm.

Impressed, Rick glances about the room at the other two men. Lee and Negan are both grinning. Rick smiles to himself as well.

Afterward, he says his goodbyes to Lee for the night and exits the room with Negan and Jesus. He stops at the nurse’s station, leaning over the counter to look at the other two staff members. Beth is slumped forward onto the desk, her shoulder bumped up against the nurse—a stern, yet friendly woman named Carol—who is typing away at her charting. Rick doesn’t get to work with Carol often, but he’s enjoyed the nights he’s had with her. She’s more strict than Tyreese, but she gets the job done. In a small-town hospital that’s relatively under-staffed, she definitely makes use of her status as one nurse.

Rick hopes he can be that good at time management when he gets his license.

Either way, once Negan and Jesus stand on either side of him, Rick smiles down to the other two. “...Have you guys eaten, yet?”

“Nope,” Beth answers quickly. “Negan only ever cooks for you.” After she speaks, she grins up at Negan, who just rolls his eyes. Rick laughs a little.

“Excuse the fuck out of me, Bethie,” Negan smirks down at her, “but if I cooked for all your sorry asses every time I worked, I’d be broke as a goddamn joke.”

“Watch your mouth, Negan,” Carol comments simply, still clicking away. Most of the nurses have to correct Negan’s language. After a few seconds, she turns her gaze up to Rick. “We _are_ pretty hungry, though. Don’t suppose you’d mind going and getting us something, would you?”

Rick shrugs. “That’s why I asked. Figured if I was out here, I could snag something for everyone. You all look like you’ve been workin’ your tails off.”

“That, we have,” Jesus sighs.

“We’re full to census again,” Negan adds. “If you had a shred of sympathy, you’d clock in and help us out.”

“No can do, Negan.” Rick claps him on the shoulder. “I’ve got to get home to my kids. But I’ll go get you some food, first.”

“Take me with you,” Negan suggests. When he glances about to his coworkers, none of them seem too miffed by the idea. Rick, however, stares right into his eyes, looking unimpressed.

“I can’t do that. Your coworkers need your help.”

“Oh, come on,” Negan actually pouts. “How in the fuck else are you gonna carry all that shit in? Besides, I could use a cigarette.”

Rick actually understands those last two points. He’s going to have his hands full, and the hospital doesn’t allow smoking anywhere on the grounds. Negan _does_ look a little stressed…

Rick concedes, by way of grabbing hold of one of Negan’s scrub pockets, yanking him in close, and shoots him a narrow-eyed glare of warning. “Fine. But you are _not_ smokin’ in my car.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Just over twenty dollars and a visit to Taco Bell later, and Rick has successfully fed his coworkers. He’s met with big grins and hugs and thank-yous all around. He just laughs and tells them to take good care of each other. Afterward, he takes special care to pull Negan aside and ask him to tell him if he finds out when Clementine is getting discharged.

“She’s going home in the morning?” Negan asks, apparently not informed about it.

Rick nods. “Yeah. I don’t think she’s ready to, but she’s all better, and they found a foster home for her. Can you just…let me know so I can come out?”

“Rick.” Negan frowns, glancing up at the clock on the wall nearby. “It’s pushing midnight. Why don’t you go get some sleep? I’m sure she’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“You don’t know that,” Rick argues. “Just…please. I’ll be out in a heartbeat.” He longs to be there for Lee, and to give Clementine one last big hug before she heads to her new home. He doesn’t know when he’s ever going to see her again, or if Lee is actually going to stand a chance getting custody of her. He wants to keep in touch.

Negan must see all this on his face, because he lets out a long sigh and shakes his head in agreement. “…Yeah, Rick. You fucking got it. I’ll let you know.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

When Rick comes home, the house is too quiet. The living room is dark and uncomfortable and stifling, so Rick doesn’t spend any time there. He instead creeps up the stairs, where the bedrooms are. Carl’s door is cracked, and when Rick peeks inside, he can see the bright, flashing light of his son’s television screen. He’s fast asleep on his bed, with Judith curled up next to him.

Rick’s heart feels warm, and it aches at the same time.

What if something were to happen to him? What would Carl and Judith do? Carl’s just about eighteen, so Rick supposes he could take his sister in, but that’d be a lot to ask a young adult who hasn’t even gotten the chance to start college yet.

Would either of them lose their voice like Clementine had? Would they ever come back from it? What would they do?

Rick doesn’t know why, but he feels like crawling into bed with his children. So he does. Still dressed and everything, he curls up next to them both. Carl wakes up briefly and looks a little confused, but he doesn’t fight it. He simply scoots over, lets his dad slip in on the other side of Judith, and they all go back to sleep. Rick almost instantly falls asleep.

He dreams of the faint voices playing on Carl’s television. His mind forms blurry images of animated cats and dogs screaming at each other in Boston accents. There’s gunfire, but it’s cartoony and entertaining, like an episode of Tom and Jerry. The music is a little dramatic.

When Rick wakes up late that morning, the kids are already gone to school, and he’s got no text message.

Actually, he’s got nothing at all. His phone is dead.

“Shit!” Rick practically dives out of Carl’s bed and rushes into his room to place his phone back on the charger. He gives it roughly fifteen seconds, before he tries to start it up. But as luck would have it, it’s too dead.

Goddamn it...has Clementine left yet?

It’s nearly ten in the morning. Rick’s heart is in his throat. He knows he shouldn’t be worrying this much, but that doesn’t stop it from happening. In an attempt to relax, he takes a hot shower. Fifteen minutes should give his phone long enough to charge a little more, right?

He doesn’t give himself a second longer than that, though. By himself in this house, Rick feels suffocated and anxious. He’s worried, and he can’t distract himself by playing with his daughter or talking with his son. And with his phone dead, Even Negan’s out of the picture for the time being. Once he’s got the towel around his waist, Rick exits the bathroom and paces back to his room.

His phone comes on this time. Much to his dismay, he’s got eight missed calls. All from Negan.

Just then, there’s a knock on his door.

Maybe it’s just the unfortunate start to the morning, but Rick has a bad feeling about whoever is on the other side of that door. He quickly changes into some pajama pants and a T-shirt, though, and shuffles down to answer it. When he opens it, Negan’s standing at his doorstep. He hardly looks awake enough to stand. He’s still in his scrubs, and his breath smells strongly of cigarettes. With his hair askew and his complexion slightly paled, Rick almost thinks he needs to redirect Negan right back to the hospital.

Instantly, Negan meets Rick’s eyes with an expression of tired irritation. “…I called you. A whole fucking lot.”

“I know you did.” Rick sighs, biting his lip. “I forgot to charge my phone last night. Crawled into bed with Carl and Judy. I’m sorry—I know I told you to call me. Why are you still in uniform?”

“Just got off work,” Negan answers. “Late, I know. I didn’t have the heart to leave.”

“The heart?” Rick frowns. “Negan, what happened?”

“Clem isn’t going home today,” He answers simply, waving for Rick to step out onto the porch, where he lights up yet another cigarette. “She had a seizure at around six this morning.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Despite being as exhausted as he is, Negan insists to tag along with Rick back to the hospital. He explains on the drive there that she’d been fine until early morning, but when Lee had put his call light on to let them know Clementine had a stomach ache, she just collapsed onto the bed and started seizing. She didn’t code out or anything, but she hasn’t awakened since her seizure. They’ve moved her to the ICU. Lee isn’t immediate family, so he can’t visit. Meaning Clementine is all alone.

Rick knows that’s just the rules, but it makes him angry anyway. Clementine doesn’t have anyone. She barely knows her foster family, and there’s no telling if those guys are out there visiting her. All the while, Lee’s stuck in his room, waiting.

As it turns out, Negan has been updating him. It’s part of the reason he’d stayed on the clock and hung around as long as he had. He’d chosen to leave to check on Rick, because it was strange for the man to not answer his calls. For a minute, Negan had seemed irritated when voicing that he was actually concerned about Rick’s well-being, but upon crossing the part where he realized it was just because his phone had died, Negan calmed down.

He should be sleeping, but he’s wide awake. He’s jittery and irritable, and when he fumbles for another cigarette, Rick snatches the pack.

“You just started smokin’ a couple days ago and you’re already a chain smoker?” Rick scoffs. “I think not. Calm down, Negan, it’s gonna be fine.”

“I’m tired as shit, Rick,” Negan retorts gruffly. “It’s keeping me awake.”

“It’s making you twitch and shake like you’re on drugs,” Rick snaps back. “Just…talk or somethin’. You don’t have to smoke this much. Let alone in my car.”

Negan sighs. “…Yeah, sorry. I just…feel goddamn bad.”

Rick parks the car and they step out into the parking lot, quickly pacing toward the entrance to the hospital. “Why? It’s not like you could have contacted me. I should have plugged my phone in—”

“It’s not about you, Rick.”

When Rick turns his gaze up to Negan, the other man has stopped walking. The cold of the early November breeze hits them both hard in the face, but Negan’s stuck staring straight into it, his now-messy hair falling victim to its violent influence.

Rick doesn’t say anything.

“She’s fucking _nine_ ,” Negan continues. “Nine years old and having seizures. Seeing a little kid start shaking like that…”

Rick gnaws hard on his lower lip. Just as he swears he feels the skin break, he swallows and reaches out, taking one of Negan’s hands into his own. He gives his friend’s fingers a gentle squeeze, before turning his attention up to Negan’s eyes. Those tired hazel orbs look like they could fall shut any minute.

“…I’m sorry. Let’s go check on her.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

In the end, the two men had been allowed to do no such thing. Much like Lee, neither Rick nor Negan are immediate family, so they’re left just as rejected as Lee is. Negan had been able to while he was on the clock, but now that he’s not, they’re screwed. They retreat to Lee’s room to voice their sorrows on the matter.

“It’s alright.” Lee’s actually laughing, and Rick feels soothed by the sound. He and Negan are parked in two chairs not too far from Lee’s bed. “They’ve been givin’ me little updates. So long as I know she’s stable, it’s okay. And they keep promisin’ me that as soon as they can, they’re gonna bring her back to this room.”

Rick does suppose this means Lee is going to get some more time with Clementine before she has to go back to her foster home. He’s definitely not okay with the girl being in ICU right now, and he’s not going to be convinced she’s fine until he gets to see her for himself, but at the very least, this gives himself and Lee another chance to start working on helping him earn custody of her.

But the topic of custody is completely off the table for now. Everyone’s just worried about Clementine. Negan keeps to himself for the most part, chewing on his lip or fixing himself drinks, while Lee and Rick converse amongst one another. This lasts damn near to noon, before Rick realizes that, oh shit, he’s got to work this evening. Negan’s dead tired, but he’s at least got the day off.

He bids Lee farewell, before he and Negan start back out the doors and toward the car. On the way home, Rick clears his throat.

“…You gonna be able to drive back home?”

Negan just laughs. “Is this a repeat of last week? I’ll be fine. Just get me to your place, and if I don’t think I can make it, I’ll crash there until I’m rested.”

“Carl and Judith get home after three,” Rick warns him. “Dunno how they might respond to you sleepin’ on my couch.”

“They handled it okay the other day.” Negan shrugs. “I’ll probably go home, though.”

“Right.” Rick sighs. “Just…text me when you get to your house so I know you made it, okay?”

Negan smirks. “Better hope your fuckin’ phone’s charged...”

“Fuck off!” Rick shoves him, and then they both laugh. It’s nice to feel the heaviness shifting out of the air around them, even though they’re both pressured and nervous and exhausted. Neither of them can resist the urge to try and relax, though.

Despite that, the friendly moment disappears soon enough. Negan slumps down in his chair when Rick pulls into the driveway. He turns to look at Rick.

“…You’ll let me know how Clem’s doing,” He requests. “No fucking ‘I thought you needed the sleep’ bullshit, alright? Call me if anything changes. Text me when you get there and tell me how she’s doing.”

Rick nods almost immediately. “Yeah. I’m gonna check on her first thing. Thanks for helpin’ me out with all of this. Go rest, okay?”

Negan just smirks. “You’re one to talk. By the way…” He extends his hand. “…Cigarettes.”

Rick scowls. “Do you really need them?”

“I paid five bucks for those fuckers. Hand ‘em over.”

Rick rolls his eyes and slaps the half-empty pack into the palm of his friend’s hand. “Whatever. It’s your cancer, I guess.”

Negan freezes upon hearing that. He looks utterly dumbfounded, but Rick can’t figure out why. He stands there for a handful of seconds, but doesn’t say anything. After a while, he just clears his throat, tucks the smokes into his pocket, and waves as he starts toward his own car.

Rick doesn’t have the heart to ask what that was all about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will update a little early. I leave for a short vacation on the 24th, and I won't be back until the 31st. That said, you can expect the next update on Wednesday. After I come back, updates will resume their regular schedule of updating every Friday. 
> 
> Thanks again guys! It seriously means the world to me! c:


	5. Chapter 5

Clementine wakes up the next day, and as promised, is returned to Lee’s room. Rick and Negan both pay them a visit as soon as she’s moved back down, and they’re given nothing but good news. The seizure has had zero adverse effects, and even though doctors are working to find out what could have caused her to convulse all of a sudden, her health is stable. She’s looking at a tentative few more days at the hospital while doctors perform stress tests and blood tests and wait for results.

Clementine rests a lot, though. Halfway through Rick’s and Negan’s visit, she curls up in her bed and goes back to sleep. Lee voices that the doctors had told him she’d probably be exhausted. Seizures are rough on the body, and since she’s just nine years old, she’s likely going to take them hard every time they happen. Thankfully, she’s only had the one so far.

Rick brings Negan home after work that weekend, to officially meet the kids and teach him how to cook yet another meal. Judith begs for fried chicken, and Carl suggests mashed potatoes and green beans to go with it.

While Negan coaches Rick through the process, he’s got Judith sitting on the counter separating the kitchen and living room, asking him all kinds of questions. A six-year-old has a lot on her mind, obviously, as she wonders if Negan’s always had gray hairs mixed in with his black ones, or if he and her daddy are best friends, or why the moon looks like cheese. Negan answers them all, and from the living room, Carl grins to himself as he plays on his phone. Negan knows it’s because he’s wondering how long it’s going to take for Judith’s onslaught of questions to grow exhausting.

Lucky for Negan, he’s apparently good with kids.

He recalls the trophy he’d found when he’d first awakened in his old apartment. The one for that team—the Saviors. He doesn’t know if the kids he’d apparently coached were teenagers or younger ones, but he figures that’s a contributor to his expertise here.

Besides, he doesn’t mind the questions. Maybe if he’d been exposed to them on the daily, he would be a little more impatient about them, but for now, they’re cute.

The fried chicken is definitely not as easy to cook as the pork chops from the other day, and Negan gets more than a little amusement out of watching Rick try and make it. Fried chicken is actually pretty difficult to cook just right, and had Judith not specifically requested it, Negan would have gone with something a little easier. Probably another baked dish.

It's when hot oil starts popping all over the place that Negan takes over, designating Rick to the task of dicing and boiling potatoes. Rick isn’t a very good cook, but he’s also not stupid, so he follows Negan’s directions with this task easily enough.

“Are you gonna live with us now, Negan?” Judith asks out of the blue, still perched on the counter.

Negan flashes her a smile. “Do you want me to?” He’s only joking, though having been close friends with Rick for a year now, he supposes being his roommate wouldn’t be all that out of the ordinary.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, her little feet kicking joyously back and forth as she thinks about it. “Do you want him to, Daddy?”

Rick just laughs. “I see him enough at work.”

“Yeah, true that,” Negan agrees. “We’re practically connected at the hip already, as it is.”

“Is that how two boys get married?” Judith suddenly questions, and Negan sees Rick start choking next to him.

“ _What?_ ” Rick gasps.

Negan hears Carl moan an exaggerated, “Oh my _god,_ ” from the living room.

Judith cocks her head. “I mean, a girl and a boy use rings, right? But Negan doesn’t have a ring on and you two are gonna get married, right? Isn’t that why you’re around each other all the time? So are you gonna get connected at the hip?”

Now, Carl is howling with laughter.

Negan smirks at Rick and bumps his hip against the smaller man’s. “I don’t know. What do you think, honey? Should we finally tie the knot and connect these hips?”

Negan notices Rick is on the verge of a ‘shut up’, but he stops with his mouth hanging open, staring at his daughter. Seeing this, Negan turns to regard Judith.

The little girl looks like she might melt any minute. She’s got her hands clasped over her mouth in excitement, her big eyes damn near bugging out of her little skull. Behind her fingers, a muffled gasp can be heard.

When Negan turns his focus back to Rick, the man is smiling. “Men get married with rings too, sweetie. If for some reason I decide to marry this bozo, I’ll do it with a ring.”

Judith’s excitement doesn’t wane even slightly. She does drop her hands from her mouth, though.

“Good! And when it happens, can I be the ring bear?” Negan can see the gears turning in the blonde’s head. “Carl can be the flower boy.”

Carl barks out laughing all over again. “It’s bear _er_!” He roars from the living room.

“No, no,” Negan joins in, “this is great! You can be the ring bear, Judith. With a costume and everything. What do you think, Rick?”

Rick’s shaking his head, but Negan notices he has the fondest, sweetest, _cutest_ smile on his face. “I think that sounds perfect.”

Judith squeaks with joy and hops off the counter, bounding over to throw her arms around Negan’s waist. Afterward, she does the same for her father. “I love you guys!” She squeals.

\--- --- --- --- ---

Long after the children have gone upstairs, Rick and Negan find themselves on the porch, beers in hand and a cigarette hanging from Negan’s lips. Rick’s front is splattered with the mess from attempting to mash potatoes with a handheld mixer. As it turns out, Rick is even less clean with his cooking than Negan is, which is saying something.

But unlike with Negan, it looks endearing on Rick. There’s this essence of ‘I tried’ in the way the younger man sits, tired, with his ass damn near slumped off the chair and his back taking up more of the seat than anything. His arms are flopped lazily over the armrests, his beer hanging loosely from the neck of the bottle by a few fingers, and to top it all off, he’s got that fluffy white mess of mashed potatoes splattered across his front. Negan finds it’s something he could get used to seeing. A lot.

Judith’s excitement over the pretend wedding he and Rick were discussing suddenly makes a little more sense. Especially in the way Negan’s heart pounds a little harder at the sight of the man sitting before him.

Negan wonders what it would feel like to lie in the same bed as Rick…to put his arms around the man from behind, face nuzzled all comfortably into the nape of his neck. Rick would undoubtedly smell like fried chicken tonight, but he’d also smell like _Rick._

Negan swallows the thoughts down when he realizes his cigarette has been burning away without him so much as taking a puff. He flicks the ashes off and takes a long drag on it, but Rick’s already onto him.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?”

_‘We’ve known each other for a year and you can already read me better than I can fuckin’ read myself…’_

Negan isn’t one to lie…

“Just about how goddamn cute you are… _honey_.” Negan is careful to keep that edge of teasing in his voice. He sure as shit doesn’t want to scare this guy away. But then again, with how many times Negan has complimented Rick’s ass, the other man probably isn’t going to take him seriously, anyway. It’s a curse disguised as a blessing.

“Well, _sweetheart_ ,” Rick jabs back, “I think you need to reevaluate your taste. I look like I need a shower more than anything.” He’s so relaxed, as if he’s either taking Negan’s words for a grain of salt or just enjoying the attention. Either way, Negan will take it over Rick freaking out on him any day.

“Well,” Negan shrugs, “for all you fucking know, I’m into that shit. Don’t be hasty.”

“Sure,” Rick says with a scoff, “my best friend is mashed-potato-sexual.”

“Do I sense judgment, Rick?” Negan mocks offense. “I’m wounded. Take that shit back.”

Rick just rolls his eyes and looks away. Silence falls over them. Negan allows himself another moment of self-indulgence, taking in the sight of the man before him. Rick really _is_ damn good-looking. Negan has jokingly made passes at him for a long fucking time, and yeah, he’s acknowledged how pretty Rick is on many occasions, but he’s never just sat and absorbed the fact.

He keeps blaming it on how excited Judith had gotten at the thought of Rick marrying him, but in all honesty, Negan’s probably always had some level of romantic interest in Rick.

Rick breaks the silence. “How do you think Clem’s doin’?”

Negan withdraws from his thoughts with surprising ease. “I’m guessing she’s alright. I don’t have a doubt in my fucking mind that someone on med/surg would call one of us if the shit decided to hit the fan again. We almost frequent the room as much as Lee and Clementine do.”

Rick seems reassured, but Negan takes notice of the fact that he pulls out his phone and starts texting someone. Probably Beth.

\--- --- --- --- ---

That night, Negan has trouble sleeping again. He smokes a couple of cigarettes, but even those along with the influence of the booze he and Rick had been drinking doesn’t seem to be helping. He’s starting to notice it’s growing harder to sleep as the days go by.

Then again, he does keep having to reset his sleep schedule. This time, he’s forcing himself to sleep at night so that he can successfully fall asleep at tomorrow night’s sleep study. His mental clock probably hates him at this point.

It’s in lying down like that, waiting for his brain to shut off for the night, that Rick crosses his mind.

Pretty Rick, cooking mashed potatoes and getting flustered over his daughter’s wandering imagination. That Rick. The Rick who hadn’t appeared in his thoughts at random like this until Judith had said something.

Negan wonders if Rick would ever actually contemplate marrying him. If one day, they’d end up in bed together every night. It’s crazy, because a six-year-old’s excited ramblings shouldn’t be making Negan think like this. But here he is, wondering if one day he’d be allowed to peel Rick’s potato-covered shirt off of him as he runs his fingers along the expanse of Rick’s chest. He wonders what those lips would taste like, and if the brush of his beard stubble on Negan’s cheeks would be as enticing as his fantasies make it seem.

Negan knows it’s wrong on at least some level to keep fantasizing, especially when his cock twitches with interest, but he can’t stop himself at this point. He pictures Rick lying down on their shared bed, his body completely exposed, dick hard and red and shiny with pre-come. He sees Rick’s hands snake out and pull him down atop him. He can practically feel the warmth of their naked bodies together, and the softness of Rick’s lips against his own.

 _When_ Negan’s hand got to the crotch of his pants is beyond him, but there he is, palming himself through the thin material of his boxers. He bends his knees, lets his legs fall apart, and before he can even think about what he’s doing, he pops open the front to his underwear and frees his cock from it.

He strokes himself in time to the kisses playing out in his imagination, and to flickers of images of Rick’s body arching against his as Negan fucks into him. He feels his own hips come off the mattress when his brain somehow manages to formulate what a moan from Rick might sound like. Everything is overstimulating with Negan caught up in his own mind like this, from the mental picture of his arms curling around Rick’s waist to the thought of how good it might feel to have his dick buried all the way inside the smaller man.

He comes hard with a strangled groan, and the instant the last dregs of his orgasm wash over him, he feels…awful.

God, what would Rick think if he knew what Negan had just done?

And now, he needs a fucking shower.

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“He can’t go away, baby…do you know what that would do to your Ma?”_

_A young Negan sits on the couch in his living room, his eyes narrowed across the room at his mother, who rests in the armchair. Her left cheek is an angry shade of purpling red, and her body is frail. She’s lost so much weight, and she looks tired. And yet, here she is, telling her son that her abusive husband…his abusive stepfather…can’t go away._

_This Negan looks as if he’s about eleven years old, and he looks downright bitter. It doesn’t give off the vibe that this is the first time the two have had this argument. Either way, Negan scowls and tears his attention away from his mother and to the stained beige carpet below._

_“I don’t understand you,” He says raspily. “You let him hit you and call you names, and you still want him around? You think him goin’ away is a bad thing? What about me, Ma?”_

_The frail woman starts crying, then, her bony hand coming to rest on her face. She shakes her head, sniffling pathetically._

_“It wouldn’t be the same.”_

Negan’s eyes snap open there. He’s lying on his side, in his _own_ goddamn bed. Not in the sleep study. No medicines, no meters, no stuffy hospital room. He’s just in his own bed, having memories out of his own volition.

The room is pitch dark now, and Negan notices he can’t have been sleeping long since the pillow is still damp and smelling like shampoo from his shower. Does he need to write this dream in his notebook?

Jesus _Christ._

Negan doesn’t remember much about his mother, but the short-lived dream puts a weight on his chest. It leaves him aching and feeling lonely.

He smokes another cigarette, and then crawls back into bed.

The smell of shampoo on Negan’s pillow is oddly comforting. It makes him feel less alone. Like someone was on that pillow before him. And even though he knows it was his spot, he doesn’t care. He takes in that smell and rolls over onto his back, closing his eyes.

And then his body tells him to open them again.

What he sees makes him think he’s still dreaming. If not for the fact that he can still taste the nicotine and menthol on his tongue from his cigarette, he would be willing himself to wake up right now.

There’s a kid standing by his bed again. This one is directly next to Negan, glaring down at him. He looks to be in his late teens, with heavy bags underneath his eyes and some of his hair falling out of its slicked-back place and over his forehead and eyes.

He’s so pale and his eyes are so dark and obscured that Negan can’t distinguish a color. He looks like a goddamned ghost.

Negan sits bolt upright in his bed and lunges, but as he tries to tackle his assailant before said assailant can tackle him, the kid disappears.

Negan hits the floor hard. He hears his arm pop long before he feels the pain.

\--- --- --- --- ---

Rick has been trying to get answers out of Negan ever since they left the emergency room. But with the pain of what Negan now knows is a dislocated shoulder still working on ebbing away, he hasn’t been too keen on talking about it. The doctor has prescribed some sort of low-key narcotic with codeine to deal with the pain until it subsides fully. They were able to relocate the shoulder, but apparently, it could take a handful of days for it to really stop hurting. Negan is now armed with a doctor’s order for the next three days off and a prescription for pain medication that he can’t actually fill until tomorrow morning.

And he’s also scared shitless.

That’s another reason he hasn’t yet explained to Rick what happened. The doctors took his story about stumbling on the way to take a late-night piss well enough, but Rick isn’t buying it. He’s part irritable that he’s up again taking care of Negan and part concerned about whatever really happened. Negan only knows this because the man has voiced it a few times during their little excursion.

“Are you going to the study tomorrow night?” Rick asks.

Negan genuinely finds himself contemplating the answer to that question. _Does_ he want to go back? Hell, if he’s remembering shit just fine now in his own fucking bed, maybe he doesn’t _need_ to go back. But on the other hand, if he doesn’t do so, will all the memories stop?

At this point, does Negan even _want_ to remember? There’s a part of him that knows deep down that this is just the tip of the iceberg, too. The ache from the most recent memory has him sick to his stomach with a pain that’s almost as overwhelming as the one in his shoulder.

“…I don’t know.” Negan has the window down, the chill of late November filtering through the vehicle. Rick adjusts his jacket, and Negan momentarily feels guilty for talking him into letting him smoke in his car. It’s been cigarette after cigarette ever since they left the hospital. But Rick knows something other than Negan’s injury is bothering him, so his compassionate side is out and keeping Negan from losing his goddamned mind.

God, what was life before Rick Grimes even _like_?

Negan is starting to realize that he has a tendency to get addicted to things. Maybe that’s what his newfound crush on Rick is. Maybe it’s just an addiction.

He supposes that’s one he could hold onto without many side effects. Too bad he’s too selfish to push Rick away for his own good. Rick is tired as shit right now, and it’s because Negan woke him up for a ride to the emergency room, because a bad dream made him freak out and dislocate his fucking shoulder.

“What happened?” Rick tries again. His grip on the steering wheel is tight. He’s nervous. Negan immediately feels guilty.

“…Shit, Rick. You’ll think I’m fucking crazy.”

“I already think you’re crazy,” Rick points out, brows furrowing as he speaks. “What could I possibly do with whatever information you’re not giving me? I’m your best friend, asshole. Now spill.”

Negan takes a long drag on his cigarette and then throws it out the window. When he reaches for another, Rick’s hand snaps out and stops him. Negan glares at him.

“You know, there _is_ such thing as a nicotine overdose.”

Negan tries to yank his hand free from Rick’s grasp, but Rick doesn’t let go. Instead, he pries the cigarette box from Negan’s fingers, allowing it to drop to the floorboard, and replaces the empty space in Negan’s palm with his own.

Negan gapes up at him, only to see that he’s glaring through the windshield, his cheeks tinged pink. “Just…squeeze my hand instead…or somethin’.”

…Jesus. How is Negan supposed to react to that?

He uses his free hand to roll the window back up, and does just as he’s told. He pushes the envelope by lacing their fingers, and Rick doesn’t fight it. The gesture does help. Negan feels grounded. For the second time in the past week, Rick has brought him back down to earth with just the grip of his fingers.

He feels safe. Whatever happened in his house earlier doesn’t compare to the rush this generates, and Negan knows he’ll never be able to explain what exactly it is, but he doesn’t mind either.

He feels like he’s at home right here.

“I’ve been seeing shit,” He finally says, swallowing a lump of nervousness back down into his throat. “Myself. I’ve been seeing myself.”

Rick doesn’t say anything, and the nervousness comes right back up like vomit. But Negan continues anyway.

“I go to bed and then I see…Rick, this is insane.”

Rick squeezes his hand. “Keep goin’. Please.”

Negan slumps against the passenger’s side door, peering out the window. “It’s me. Younger me. I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind. It’s like damn fucking ghosts showing up at my bedside at night when I’m alone, and they…they scare the shit out of me. I thought I was being attacked by one tonight, so I tried to tackle it and wound up on the goddamn floor, all because this shit isn’t fucking real and I’m going crazy.”

“It gets pretty real when it generates you a hospital bill,” Rick points out sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Negan.”

“…You don’t believe me.” Negan can’t bring himself to look over at Rick. He doesn’t want to see what his friend is thinking on his face.

“It’s not that.” When Negan hears those words and finally glances at Rick, he sees that the man is smiling widely. “Negan…what does a younger version of you look like?”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Negan sneers, teeth bared. “No, no, no, we are not doing any of this baby picture bullshit.”

“I bet your hair was a mess. You keep it long? Were you that kid with a mullet? Or maybe a rat tail?”

“My hair has looked damn good all my life, fuck you very much.” Negan can see what Rick’s doing. Ever the perfect best friend, he’s changing the tone. Making Negan feel better about the whole situation. And all the while, he’s got a firm grip on Negan’s hand.

“…A bowl cut,” he grumbles around a scowl. “Literally. I don’t have many memories yet, but I do know Ma did that shit herself, with the fucking bowl on my head and everything.”

“Ma…that’s what you called her?” Rick wonders.

“Yeah. So what?”

“…Cute.” Rick’s answer is immediately followed by a laugh.

“It’s just a name.” Negan doesn’t voice the bitterness he has toward his mother as of the most recent memory. “I bet you called yours ‘Momma’, huh?” He smirks. “Like a good southern boy.”

Rick and Negan have only briefly discussed why Rick and his family moved from Georgia to Virginia, and every now and then, Negan can’t help but give him shit about it.

“Nope.” Rick shrugs. “She was just ‘Mom’. Plain and simple.”

 _‘Plain and simple, huh?’_ Negan thinks. _‘Funny how nothing is plain or fucking simple about you…’_

Negan falls silent there, yet again lost in his own thoughts. He thinks about his shoulder and how much it aches, and he thinks about Rick and how lucky he was to happen upon him at the hospital. About how lost he is starting to feel when he’s by himself, and about how flawlessly Rick seems to put him right back where he belongs.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

“You can stay with me tonight,” Rick suddenly says.

Goddamn…is he a fucking mind reader or some shit? Or is Negan just an open book waiting for Rick to turn the page? Either way, Negan can’t bring himself to answer affirmatively. Is it that obvious that he’s so fucked up he can’t sleep by himself?

“Rick—”

“No,” Rick argues. “If I get another late-night phone call because you injured yourself again, I’m going to personally rip you out of your apartment and move you in with me. You can have the couch tonight, and that way, I’ll be right there if something goes wrong.”

By that point, Negan is utterly speechless. He just gives Rick’s hand an appreciative squeeze and nods slowly, before turning his focus back out the window.

\--- --- --- --- ---

In the end, Negan does return to the sleep study the next night. Rick reminds him that going is important, and that whatever door starting this has opened likely isn’t going to close if he doesn’t figure out how to address it anyway. Besides, he’s getting paid for it.

So here he is, on yet another night, hooked up to monitors and wires, with meds he still isn’t sure he should be taking well on their way into his system. He takes a good hour to write his most recent dreams into his notebook and then flops down onto the cushy mattress, his gaze fixed up at the ceiling.

Sleep comes with surprising ease this time.

Negan doesn’t dream that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this update was a little early, because I'm gonna be gone until the 31st starting tonight. That said, updates will be on Fridays as per usual following that date. So the next update will be a little later than usual, but we'll be back on schedule after that. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I know I promised to update this one two days ago, but after the vacation I went on, I came back a great deal under the weather. I'm doing better now, and the next update will occur on Friday as per usual. c: 
> 
> The next couple of chapters are a little dramatic, but believe me when I tell you it's all necessary. Sorry for the crazy whirlwind of events that is this fic! Thank you so much to those of you who continue to give this one a read ; w;

Rick is starting to worry.  
  
He knows full well that his decision to sign Negan up for the sleep study was with nothing but good intent, but just a few of the weeks in and Negan seems to be having a harder time with it than he'd expected.  
  
Rick didn't think about what the reasoning behind Negan's amnesia had been. In all honesty, he'd just wondered if it hadn't been caused by some freak accident. But now that Negan has picked up chain smoking and seems to be haunted by everything that's coming back to him, Rick is starting to wonder if maybe he'd been better off without those memories.  
  
But still, there's some part of him who can tell Negan wants to remember. Maybe not as much as before, but now, it's about finding closure. Negan doesn't know a lot of things, and not going to the study poses the risk of leaving too many doors open and making things harder on him.  
  
To sate the guilt Rick feels for his hasty decision, he has resolved himself to the fact that he's just going to be there for Negan while he figures his shit out.   
  
He cares deeply for Negan. He wants the man to be okay. This isn't a hard decision for Rick because...well, this is _Negan_. If Rick were in his shoes, he knows the other man would do the same for him.  
  
Rick has taken the night off from work. He's racked up enough personal time that he can easily afford a night or two to just make sure Negan's memories this time around don't fuck him over. Besides, he gets time with his kids this way.  
  
At present, he has friends over. Initially, he had just invited Maggie to dinner, but after seeing how exhausted he is, she has brought Glenn, Michonne, and Andrea with her and they've all decided to work on dinner for him. He had wanted to show off the meager cooking skills he had gained from Negan's teachings by attempting a round of pork chops again, but Maggie hadn't been having it.  
  
" _You look like death._ " She had insisted. " _Let us give you a proper night off from work_."  
  
Not that it's done any good. Rick is still just as stressed with not knowing what's going on with Negan, so instead of hovering over his phone in anticipation of a frightened call from his friend, who likely hasn't even gone to bed yet, Rick is sitting at the dining room table, helping Judith put together a puzzle, glancing nervously at his phone every few moments.  
  
At the same time, Judith is such a nice distraction. She hums as she turns the big cardboard pieces in her fingers and talks to herself as if she's imagining what the picture is going to look like when she's done. She asks Rick questions every now and then, and there's a point in time where she has him so engaged in conversation that he doesn't look at his phone for quite a while.  
  
Carl joins them eventually. As he points to spots where Judith might be able to fit her next puzzle piece, he looks up at his father. He's smiling.  
  
"I got to meet some of my roommates for next year today," he tells his father. Carl will be moving into the dorms for the local community college in the fall semester next year. He's growing up so fast. The six years following Lori's death have gone by so incredibly fast with Rick working as much as he has been that he can't keep up. Rick feels a pang of regret at this and decides to himself that the rest of his personal time is going to be dedicated to giving himself and his family a good summer.  
  
The intrusive thought that maybe Negan can come along too is fleeting. Rick insists to himself that he can think about that later. He's awake in time to see his family. That's what matters right now.  
  
"Really?" Rick asks, genuinely interested now. "Any of 'em from your school?"   
  
This small Virginia town doesn't have but the one high school, but with Williamsburg nearby, a lot of people tend to come to the college here after graduating. Perhaps it's because their families think the small town feeling is safer.   
"Just one," Carl answers. "That kid...Ron Anderson? Yeah, he's a bit of a doucher, but he seemed pretty chill when we met. The other two aren't so bad. One's name is Noah, and the other is Siddiq. I think they're pretty nice."  
  
"That's good," Rick smiles. "We'll have to make a day where they can all come over."  
  
"I'd like that," Carl responds with a matching smile. Rick sees all the traits his son inherited from him in the boy's face, but he also catches a flicker of Lori. His chest clenches at the realization and he finds himself wondering if he's done right by his children. Is Lori proud of him right now?   
  
God, he hopes so. Rick honestly feels like he's doing the absolute best he can. He supposes he could be entering nursing school and getting his studies out of the way, but...Jesus. His life is already so busy, and with helping Negan now, it's even more tumultuous.  
  
Not that he regrets it. It may seem selfish, but it's a change from the monotony. Rick has spent the past handful of years balancing parenting with working overnights, and with what little time he has awake during the day, he rarely gets to do anything he wants to.  
  
Negan is a breath of fresh air in that sense. The blessing inside the curse of his amnesia is that he comes with literally nothing else but himself. He doesn't know what it's like to have kids or balance bills with his aspirations, and the minor dose of immaturity that comes with that is refreshing. Around Negan, Rick gets to have fun.   
  
It might not be much more than going on rogue shopping trips at the grocery store or sitting on the porch and enjoying a few beers, but it's something different. Something that doesn't remind Rick of work or bills. Something that makes him feel like he still has a life.   
  
"But don't bring Negan," Carl's words are startling...jarring. Rick's starting to wonder if he hadn't said his thoughts aloud. Either way, he turns his focus up to his son. "I guess he coached Ron when he was in grade school, and Ron can't stand him."  
  
Rick knows he looks like a deer in the headlights now, and Carl knows he knows, because he suddenly scoffs.  
  
"You were gonna invite him," he observes dryly. "God, Dad, maybe Judy was onto something when she suggested you two get married."  
  
Rick lets out a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "C'mon...it's not like that. When's the last time you saw me with a friend, Carl?"  
  
"You mean like tonight?" Carl shrugs, motioning to the kitchen. "Those people are you friends. Negan is...attached to you. It's been six years since Mom died, you know. Maybe you and him really are just good friends, but I'm pretty sure it's okay to have a relationship if it turns out that way. Guy's been cooking us dinner like a good housewife for a year, anyway. Besides," he smirks at his father, "Negan's totally on board with it."  
  
Thankfully, Maggie takes that moment to present herself again, cheerily exclaiming that they have somehow managed to come up with something edible from Rick's kitchen. It opens up a discussion about when Rick decided to actually stock the thing with proper cooking ingredients, which leads to discussion about Negan.  
  
Maggie has a more level head about it. She jokes about how Rick has known him for so long but has never introduced him. Says that needs to change.  
  
Rick agrees.   
  
He's a mix between relieved and disappointed that evening when everyone says their goodbyes and he checks his phone to see that Negan hasn't called or texted him.  
  
After bidding his son goodnight, Rick sends Negan a text.  
  
_[R: how goes the study?]_  
  
It's roughly ten at night, so Rick doesn't have his hopes up. But it feels better somehow to have sent a message out. He feels relaxed, and allows himself half an hour to enjoy a shower.  
  
Or rather, he plans on it, but before he can get to it, Judith shuffles into his room, rubbing her eyes. She doesn't ask his permission--just crawls into his bed and slips under the covers.  
  
Of course Rick is going to snuggle with his daughter. He very rarely gets the chance to. He most often has to be at work when she's going to bed. Once a week or so, he gets to kiss her goodnight.  
  
So he crawls into bed too, and with his daughter all nuzzled up against him, he falls asleep.  
  
\--- --- --- --- ---  
  
He wakes up to said daughter still passed out in bed next to him. She's facing the edge of the bed with her first finger in her mouth--Judith's rendition of thumbsucking. She looks positively zonked, so Rick chooses not to bother her.   
  
The display on his phone tells Rick that it's just past eight in the morning. So it's still a bit early.   
  
And he also has a few messages from Negan.  
  
_[N: well i slept so theres that..._  
 _N: flattered as shit you took the time to think about me_  
 _N: a man after my heart rick]_  
  
Rick pores over the message for several seconds, grinning goofily. When he catches himself, though, he rights himself and heads for that shower.  
  
Negan doesn't leave his thoughts. Rick pictures the message over and over again in his head. He can practically hear it in Negan's voice. In that booming, deep rumble that so effortlessly gets the points of the words across. He can see that smirk on Negan's lips, a cigarette dangling between them...  
  
When a surge of excitement hits him there, Rick feels his cock twitch with the first dregs of arousal.  
  
...Holy shit.  
  
Nope. He is _not_ going down that road with Negan. In all honesty, Negan has enough on his plate right now. He doesn't need Rick's thoughts of pining after him.   
  
And hell, it probably isn't even pining. It's curiosity. What with Carl and Judith acting like he and Negan are a couple...because that's what kids do. They see another important person in Rick's life, they're gonna think that person needs to be there more often. Right?  
  
Yeah, dick, take that. Rick most certainly does not want Negan to be anywhere near romantically involved with him. They've both got too much going on to focus on that.  
  
Rick thinks that maybe it really _is_ time to start working on nursing school.  
  
\--- --- --- --- ---  
  
After his shower, Rick gets Judith dressed and decides to pay Lee a visit. Clementine should be getting released very soon, and much like before, Rick wants to know so he can be there to tell her goodbye.  
  
It's just him and his daughter this time. Carl has elected to spend the day with Sophia, and has promised to call if he needs anything.  
  
Lee is surprisingly pleasant this time. Clementine goes home tomorrow, and since Rick works tonight, he's decided he's just going to stay over after his shift and wait until it's time to bid her goodbye. Lee is apparently getting released that day too.  
  
"Do you have a place to stay?" Rick asks him, and Lee smiles and nods.  
  
"Got a buddy who runs a boat rental shop in Norfolk, he helped me find an apartment while I was stuck here," Lee tells him with a smile. "It's a little out of the way, but it's a place to stay and it's furnished, so I can't say no to that."  
  
Norfolk is almost an hour away. Ricks shoulders slump a little at that thought.  
  
"We're gonna keep in touch," Lee, as if reading Rick's mind, says. "Got a lot to work on with getting Clem and all, and I really like you."  
  
I really like you.  
  
Rick's heart swells at those words. He feels color paint his cheeks.  
  
"Yeah," Rick finally manages awkwardly. "Me too. Uh... here." He digs his phone out of his pocket and opens up the contacts page, passing it to Lee. "Add me. We'll have to hang out at some point. I know Judy and Carl would love to come to Norfolk."  
  
"Yeah," Lee smiles widely. "That'd be great."  
  
"And, you know," Rick adds with encouragement on his features, "you can always come spend the night at my place. We'll go visit Clem. Make it a date."  
  
Lee's smile grows. "Man after my heart, Rick."  
  
Rick's heart thumps loudly in his chest, to the point that he thinks it might have just been audible to everyone else. He almost covers it with his arms to stifle the sound.  
  
Negan had just said the exact same thing this morning in a text. Why does thinking about that make Rick feel like he's going to pass out? If the meaning really is there...  
  
Jesus. Rick bites back the urge to slap himself in the forehead for such a thought. When did relationships become the only thing on his mind?  
  
He focuses on Clem and Judy now. They're both giggling as they color in Judith's coloring book. They've got big grins on their faces, and even though Clementine isn't talking, it's like she and Judith are carrying on a conversation.  
  
Rick imagines the future. A hopeful one in which Lee has managed to adopt Clem. Wherein they're all going on play dates together, taking group pictures. Watching the kids have fun at the park. Lee getting to say things like "that's my girl" and "I'm so proud of her," and Rick getting to watch as the emotion and relief washes over his face.  
  
And Negan would be there. Negan and Carl, tossing a football back and forth or caught up in a game of hide and seek with the girls. Maggie would bring Hershel and Glenn would snap pictures while they all played together. Like the perfect family.  
  
Lori would most certainly be proud, then.  
  
In the end, Judith passes out next to Clementine in her bed, and once the hours have waned over to noon and Rick knows he should go home and get some rest, he scoops his daughter up in his arms and rights himself. He bids Clementine goodbye with a hug and claps Lee thankfully on the shoulder.  
  
He doesn't have Carl around to watch Judith while he sleeps, so he calls Maggie. She's at work, but Glenn has no problem taking Judith until Carl is done spending his day with his friend.   
  
They spend an hour chattering together while Judith helps baby Hershel practice walking across the living room carpet. Glenn waxes emotional about it the whole time.  
  
"Was it this way when Carl learned to walk?" He asks as Hershel makes little 'ba' noises while holding Judith's hand.  
  
"It was pretty emotional, yeah," Rick answers with a fond smile. "I'll admit I was workin' a lot at the time, so Lori got the brunt of it. But when Lori died and Judith started learnin' to walk, I was a mess. Carl cried too."  
  
"Does it get any easier?" Glenn asks.  
  
Rick finds himself wondering if Glenn means losing his wife or seeing his children grow up. He goes with both. "I don't think so. Carl's about to go to college, and Judy is in grade school now. Before I know it, they're gonna be grown and startin' their own little families. I'm gonna be an old man cryin' alone over family photos around Christmas time."  
  
"That's another thing," Glenn laughs. "I haven't bought shit for Christmas. December is two weeks away and I haven't spent a dime on anyone."  
  
"Yeah...me either," Rick realizes. "Between all this shit with Negan and Clementine and Lee, I've been so busy I can't think about any of it."  
  
It's then that Rick learns that Glenn doesn't know about Lee and Clementine yet, so he spends another half hour explaining that situation. In the end, Glenn comes out of it just as determined to help Lee with his struggles with Clementine as Rick is. They make plans to go Christmas shopping together, and after that, Rick is finally headed home to get some sleep.  
  
He arrives to see Negan sitting on the porch.  
  
At the very least, Negan looks significantly less distraught than he has over the last week. He's got a cigarette hanging from his lips, his eyes brightening as Rick climbs out of his car.  
  
"What're you doin' here?" Rick asks, though he's not too concerned. Both he and Rick have work tonight, so he can't really hassle the guy about interrupting his sleep.  
  
"Waiting for you to unlock the door," Negan just says, motioning behind him with his thumb to the entrance to Rick's house.  
  
"...Everything okay?" Rick frowns.   
  
Negan just shrugs. "It's fine. I just felt like crashing at your place since I'm going to be cooking your fucking dinner for work tonight."  
  
Rick wishes he had something to throw at Negan's stupid face. "You could've called me."  
  
"I could have, yeah," Negan admits. "But I figured your ass would be coming home any minute to get some sleep before work."  
  
Rick frowns at him. "...How long have you been waiting?"  
  
"Since eleven or so." Negan doesn't look bothered by it, but knowing that it's pushing two in the afternoon and it's forty degrees outside, Rick can't stop himself from reacting.  
  
It comes in the form of a heel digging roughly into Negan's shoe, making him yowl in pain.  
  
"What the fuck?!" Negan demands.  
  
"You're an idiot." Rick wrenches his key into the lock and opens the door. "It's cold out and you literally just sat here and smoked and waited. The cold isn't good on your shoulder, dumbass."  
  
"Excuse the fuck out of me..." Negan follows Rick inside despite the assault on his foot. "Just figured you were busy. Goddamn."  
  
"Well I was," Rick concedes with a sigh, before rounding on Negan once more. He doesn't do much other than stare pointedly into those hauntingly dark eyes of Negan's. "...but I'm never too busy for you."  
  
He sees Negan smirk and he just knows what's going to come out of his friend's mouth, so he cuts him off there. "You're going through a lot, and it's kind of my fault, which I feel like shit for." He doesn't feel like he needs to explain himself, but he knows Negan is going to pop off and say something if he doesn't.  
  
But the smirk fades all too quickly from Negan's features when Rick finally gets his words out.  
  
"Wait...Rick, are you fucking serious right now?" Negan looks downright incredulous. "What part of any of this is your fault?"  
  
"I recommended you to the sleep study, didn't I?" Rick's words are matter-of-fact and plainly spoken, but when he sees the shock on Negan's face fade away just as quickly as his smirk had and give way to anger, he almost recoils.  
  
"...That's goddamned fucking ridiculous and you know it." Negan advances on Rick and he backs away, actually a little frightened. "What kind of moron do you have to be to take all this shit and put it on yourself?"  
  
"Look at yourself," Rick retorts as Negan continues to step toward him. He feels the counter dividing the kitchen and living room come into contact with his back. He wants to jump over it and keep moving. "You can't sleep alone, and you're perpetually tired, and you started smoking, for Christ's sake!"  
  
And then he says something he immediately regrets.  
  
"You look like shit, Negan. This is pathetic. And I did this to you because I thought your memories would do you some good."  
  
He sees the words register in Negan's mind, and sees the weight of them as they hit his chest. The anger doesn't wane, but shock and fucking _hurt_ join them and Rick instantly feels guilty.  
  
"Negan..."  
  
"No." Negan narrows his eyes at him. "You got your fucking point across. I'll stop being your problem."  
  
He turns on his heel there and walks right out the door. Rick, still backed up against the wall, gapes as his friend leaves. His stomach feels like it's about to hit the floor.  
  
He suddenly wishes he had kept Judith home with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm voicing this because it's sat on the back of my mind and nearly destroyed my will to write this fic. 
> 
> I've been excited about this idea ever since I decided I was going to use it as a manner of venting out some of my own personal traumas. Nah, I'm not going to take every situation and slap the characters into them just like how they happened. But the history is still there, and the effect it's had on me for the past twenty-four years of my life is something I feel deserves a little voicing.
> 
> I've mentioned this idea to friends, and for the most part, I've received nothing but support about it. You guys, I love you so much for being so encouraging about an idea that could be easily interpreted as a self-insert type of thing, and for those of you who choose to support me but aren't planning on giving this a read, I still appreciate the hell out of you too.
> 
> I almost didn't write this. I brought it up to one person, who probably meant well in their interpretation (and is also entitled to their opinions), and their response nearly destroyed my will to even give it a shot. I suppose they grossly misread what I was telling them as "I'm going to take the characters and throw them into every experience I've had in my life" which wasn't the plan, but I guess they found it 'selfish' and 'insulting to the characters'. 
> 
> I spiraled down so hard after this. Nearly offed myself, because here I had found an outlet (that didn't cost me 600 dollars worth in therapy visits that I STILL have to pay off), and suddenly, that outlet was too selfish and Mary-Sue-ish. Suddenly, I was slapping Kirkman in the face by not writing his character right or some shit. I took it too personally, and I honestly still do.
> 
> But then I remembered it's fanfiction, and I can write whatever the fuck I want. So yeah, I'm going to write this fic for catharsis, and if you want to read, go for it! If not, that's your choice too! But I'm still going to write it and I'm still going to post it, and let me tell you:
> 
> I've got ten chapters of this baby written and it really IS helping my emotional state. I've felt better in the past month than I have in decades. No, I know that writing a piece of fanfiction isn't going to cure my depression, but damn if it doesn't at least temporarily help. And even if this whole thing IS a little self-inserty, I honestly don't care anymore. I feel better, and if I'm going to be the one spending hours writing, that's what matters. If someone else happens to enjoy the work in the process, that's the icing on the cake.
> 
> So yeah, I'm going to be selfish about this one. 
> 
> Call it self-care.
> 
> The point I'm getting at here is, if you open up your ideas to someone, you're opening yourself up to criticism, and that's okay! But don't let their view on it be your endgame. In the end, it's just an opinion, and as long as you're not hurting anyone with what you're doing, you go on with your bad self and you do the thing! You're amazing, and you don't have to prove that to anyone! 
> 
> To those of you who somehow made it to the end of this rant without taking offense, and to those of you who are going to continue to give my work the time of day despite this bitchy little essay, thank you. You don't know how much I appreciate you.
> 
> And lastly, but not least, a HUGE thank-you to the two people who gave this a read before I posted it. Thank you so much! I know it's definitely a lot on the cheesy side, so I appreciate you wading through all that for me. xD


End file.
